Blackadder: Forcing the Hand of Fate
by Rowena Zahnrei
Summary: An attempted explanation for several inexplicable things crammed into ten sizzling chapters - with some hot gypsies thrown in.
1. Prologue

I cannot believe I found this! I thought it was lost forever, destroyed along with the ancient hand-me-down laptop that died in my arms back in high school! But, here it is! Well…most of it. The ending is missing. I must have thought to save a copy of the story on my Dad's old desktop computer before I finished the last two or three chapters and, when I transferred my school files from my Dad's computer to my college laptop and then from there to my graduate and (current) postgraduate school laptops, this story must have gotten carried along for the ride! Wow!

This story brings back A LOT of memories. Not all good but, hey, high school. Doodling around with this was my way of procrastinating in front of the TV while looking like I was doing my homework. LOL! I was so deeply obsessed with _Blackadder_ and _I, Claudius_ back then…this was the result. It's incredibly long and admittedly flabby in places and it is missing its ending (which I really should rewrite now I've discovered this story still exists!), but it has great sentimental value to me just as it is and I'm going to post it here on my fanfiction page so I'll never, ever lose it again!

 **Blackadder: Forcing the Hand of Fate**

 _ **An attempted explanation for several inexplicable things crammed into ten sizzling chapters - with some hot gypsies thrown in.**_

 **by Rowena Zahnrei**

 **#0: 1959 A.D. Something of a Prologue**

 **involving:**

 **the strange and highly unusual meeting of two relatives**

It was very late. Past midnight, in fact. The ancient stone room was drafty and cold. Most of the heat emanating from the rusty old radiator was being sucked out into the freezing night through the long, narrow window above it before it could reach the room's sole occupant: a dark, thin figure bent industriously over his large, wooden desk.

The window's hinges had frozen open some years ago and had bent during a, now retired, maintenance man's well-meaning efforts to close it. Since that time it had sat unevenly in its frame, letting in the insects of summer, the rain of spring, the chilling fog of morning, and the bitter winds of winter. A rag had been stuffed into the crack, but it had since disintegrated to a stiff, brown, tattered thing that could no more be expected to perform its function of keeping out drafts than a teenager with a short attention span who had spent the entire night before partying could be expected to stay awake during an 8:00 AM class on...anything, really.

But the thin, middle aged man who sat hunched over his desk in his shirt and waistcoat did not notice the bent window. Nor did he feel the chill draft. His attention was fully held by the thick stack of books and papers in front of him. By the yellowish light of his antique oil lamp, he flipped pages, read passages, and scribbled notes with an intense concentration that nothing short of a herd of elephants stampeding away from the epicenter of a massive earthquake could have jarred.

Perhaps this was why he did not look up when the stone ceiling above the dusty carpet before his desk wavered and shimmered as if it had just been transmogrified into liquid mercury. It could also be why he did not pause his scribbling when a great wooden box with a large clock face on the front materialized on that same carpet, releasing a great cloud of dust as it came to rest with a jarring thump. It might even explain why he continued to mutter to himself and flip pages as the wooden door on the side of the box was lowered with a great clumping thump-raising another cloud of dust-and a tall, slender, beady eyed man with very short cropped black hair, a trim, devilish beard, and a largish nose peeked his head out of the opening.

"Ah," this man said, stepping out onto the ramp the door had become, straightening his wine colored dinner jacket and smoothing the wrinkles out of his black turtleneck. He looked around the shadowy, dusty, book-crammed room with a mixture of satisfaction, derision, and half-fond remembrance. "It seems that you've managed to get something right for once, Baldrick. This freezing, dusty cave could certainly belong to none other than my old Uncle Edmund."

He waited while his companion, a short, scruffy man with a scabby face, stringy hair, baggy, greasy, stained clothing, and dirty white sneakers, tramped artlessly out onto the ramp with him.

"Is that your uncle, then, my lord?" he asked innocently, pointing with a dirty brown finger to the thin figure behind the enormous antique oak desk.

The taller man looked where the shorter one was pointing.

"Yes, that's him all right. The most studious man in England. He's probably the only person in the universe who would come into his office on his own initiative during the winter holiday and do work. He's also the least observant person in the world. You could park a car on his foot while he was reading and he wouldn't notice until some well-meaning soul forcibly extracted that enormous nose of his from his book."

Baldrick chuckled under his hand.

"What's so funny?"

"Well, it's just that his nose is exactly the same shape as yours, my lord. In fact, except for the fact that some of his hair is white and that he doesn't have a beard, you two look exactly alike."

His taller companion puffed out in anger.

"I look nothing like old Uncle Big-Nose! He's an ugly, musty, dusty, old man while I am a dashing lord in my prime. And don't you forget that, Baldrick!"

The scabby little man shrugged affably as Lord Blackadder strode over to the desk and waved his hands in front of his uncle's face. Failing to attract his attention, he turned back to his companion and smirked.

"He's exactly as I remembered him. Here, we have just materialized in front of his desk in a genuine time machine from forty years in the future and he hasn't even blinked. Look at him. Deaf and blind to all but his books."

"I believe I could get his attention, my lord," the scruffy little man piped as he jumped down from the ramp and onto the dusty old rug.

The taller man turned a sharp, ironic look on him.

"Oh yes, Baldrick? And what would you suggest? Neither the miraculous arrival of a time machine, nor our present conversation has succeeded in grabbing his attention. I fail to see how anything you might do could make any difference."

"Here, I'll show you, my lord," the little man said. He scampered confidently over to the industriously scribbling man, took him by the shoulders, and shouted into his ear, "Mr. Lord Blackadder's Uncle Edmund! Visitors here to see you!"

The thin, dark man gave a start, ran his fingers through his wild, salt-and-pepper hair, and rubbed his round, red-rimmed brown eyes. Then he stretched, and shivered.

"My, but it's cold in here," he observed in a soft, mild voice. "Now, where did I put my jacket?"

Lord Blackadder's eyes opened slightly wider than usual.

"I'm impressed, Baldrick. You have just accomplished the impossible. You have diverted my Uncle Edmund's attention from his books."

The scruffy, scabby little man called Baldrick grinned, showing uneven, yellow teeth, as he held up the brown jacket that had been draped over the back of the man's chair and helped him into it.

"Thank you, my good fellow," said Lord Blackadder's uncle, absently. "I really must remember to ask to get that window fixed. This cold weather cannot be very good for my books." He suddenly looked up. "You said I had visitors?" he asked, seeming to be more present than he previously had been. "Where might they be?"

His nephew from forty years in the future sighed deeply.

"We're right here in front of you, Uncle."

The older man looked confused.

"Uncle? Why do you call me uncle? I can see clearly that we are related, genetic resemblance being so amazingly strong in our family, but I only have one nephew, and he is seven years old. While you, my dear sir, are nearer to my age than my own brother. How old are you? Forty-five? Fifty?"

His nephew straightened to the extent that his haughty arrogance could allow, covering an offended glare with obviously fake smile.

"Dear Uncle, I am indeed your nephew. I have come here to your study from forty years in the future in this time machine."

He gestured grandly to the great wooden box standing beside him on the dusty carpet.

"I am Lord Edmund Blackadder, from the year 1999."

"Well, it's almost not the year 1999 any more, my lord," Baldrick spoke up. "In fact, it's very nearly the year 2000, seeing as it was almost midnight when we left and that it's New Year's Eve and all."

Lord Blackadder glared at his companion, but before he could say anything, his uncle interrupted angrily.

"Is this some kind of a joke? I'll have you know, sir, that I do not take kindly to this. I have a great deal of work to do and I have no time for time wasters. Explain your presence here, and the presence of that ridiculous box you presume to call a time machine, or else I shall be forced to call in the night watchman and have you both removed from University grounds."

Lord Blackadder chuckled quietly in his throat.

"I'm sure there is no need for that, Uncle. I can prove to you that I am your nephew-if you'll agree to come with me and to bring that book you're writing with you."

"What is this, a kidnapping? Well, I won't go! I've never been kidnapped in my life, and I refuse to make an exception for you."

"No, Uncle. This is not a kidnapping. It is an invitation. I am inviting you to come with me of your own free will on a trip through history. Knowing how interested you are in the subject, I thought it would be only fitting if you came along with me as a guide, and for your own enjoyment. After all, who could be a better advisor as we trek through time than a Professor of English History from Oxford University: my own, dear Uncle Edmund? There is no catch, and if you choose not to come, we will leave you at once, taking our time machine and whatever dust may be clinging to it with us, never to bother you again."

The older man looked very carefully at the straight postured, black-bearded man in front of him, then turned his gaze to the time machine. His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"If you are telling the truth, if you truly are from forty years in the future, why do you need me to bring my presently half-finished manuscript along with me? Wouldn't you already have a copy of the completed work?"

Quickly realizing that it would be an unwise move to say his uncle's book had never actually been published and that he had sold the only copy of his unfinished manuscript-which he had never even glanced through let alone actually read-at an auction site on the internet some years ago, Lord Blackadder took a deep breath and prepared to come up with a really convincing lie.

"Well, Uncle, I don't actually have that book in my possession. My father, you see, was so attached to it that he wanted it burned with him when he was cremated. And I felt it would be much more convenient to simply pick up a copy when I came here to get you than to purchase a new one."

Though he ended with one of his most charming smiles, Professor Blackadder still looked suspicious.

"How's this, Nephew-if that's really who you are, and I must say I am not yet even slightly convinced. You take me, in that so-called time machine of yours, to whichever year I specify and back here again. If you do that, I'll agree to come with you. If you can't, then I'll expect you and your greasy companion to get your tails out of this study as quickly as humanly possible and never to show your spotty faces round here again. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Uncle," said Lord Blackadder with a very small smile. "Perfectly."

"Very well then, let's go."

With that, Baldrick led Professor Blackadder to the ramp with Lord Blackadder following smugly behind.

* * *

"Here, Uncle. Sit down. I'm sorry there are no chairs but we weren't really expecting this to work when we first started out."

Professor Blackadder looked to where his nephew was gesturing with disgusted surprise.

"But these are toilets! Two open, wooden toilets! With seatbelts, no less! You expect me to sit here? Who designed this crate?"

"It was designed by none other than the great Leonardo Da Vinci and built by none other than our own Baldrick, here. Which, of course, explains some of the modifications that have been made to the original plans, such as the little plush creature which pops out of that cabinet over there when you push this button, and the raspberry flavored lollipop lever which does absolutely nothing."

"Unless you lick it," piped Baldrick. "Then, it gets smaller and smaller and smaller until finally, it disappears! And then, all you have left is a wet stick. That's the bit which really does nothing."

The professor stared at him. Lord Blackadder rolled his eyes, then turned his long-suffering gaze towards the ceiling.

"Baldrick."

"Yes, my lord?"

He sighed.

"No, no. I won't even comment. It's too stupid."

The professor merely grunted and plunked himself down on the board separating the two toilet holes.

"Where should I tell the machine to go, my lord?" asked Baldrick walking over to the pull-down panel of knobs, dials, and real levers at the front.

"It's up to Uncle Edmund, here, remember? Uncle Edmund?"

"Oh, yes. Take me to the year 43 AD."

"All right. 43 AD. Do you think you can manage that, Balders?"

"No problem, my lord. Before we set out on this trip, I took the time to fill in all the blank spaces here with numbers. It should be much easier to find our way around time this time around."

"I wouldn't be too optimistic about that, Baldrick, but hope springs eternal. Set the dials, turn the crank, pull the levers, and let's be off!"

* * *

 _Until next time! :)  
_


	2. Chapter 1

Thanks so much for leaving a review for this story, and for sharing it! I'm really happy to know you're enjoying it! :)

I've managed to recover five and a half of the ten chapters this story used to have. The rest is gone, or unsalvagably garbled. I'll be cleaning up the remaining bits, though - all 215 pages of them! - and posting them here and, when they're all up I'll add this story to my In-Progress list and get started on rewriting the last chapters.

The chapters for this story are quite long. I considered breaking them up, but decided to leave them intact. I hope you like this next part! The setting and the Emperor's plan are all based on actual historical events written by authors like Tacitus, Suetonius, Dio, and Robert Graves.

* * *

 **#1: 43 A.D. Emperor Claudius I of Rome vs. Caractacus of the Britons**

 **involving:**

 **elephants, camels, thunder and lightening machines, and a French man on stilts.**

The time machine plunked down hard on sloping ground. Several short moments later, the ramp was lowered and the three time travelers stepped cautiously out onto it. There was a very thick fog. It was nearly as thick as whipped cream, but it smelled nothing like as sweet.

"Phew!" Lord Blackadder held his nose with his fingers. "Can it be we're back with the dinosaurs? I think I can smell your underpants, Baldrick."

"Oh, no, my lord. This stink's not quite that whiffy. It smells more like a zoo."

"Yes, a zoo in which the keepers have neglected to clean out the elephant house. Where are we?"

Professor Blackadder looked very excited.

"Near Colchester, I believe. Can you hear that?" he asked, nearly at the point of jumping up and down with glee.

Baldrick and Lord Blackadder stretched their ears, trying to locate the sound the professor was referring to. After a moment, they heard it. A splintering, crashing sound, followed by loud bellows.

Lord Blackadder took an involuntary step back towards the door of the time machine.

"My God, it sounds as if there's a herd of elephants out there, trying to make their way through a forest by flattening all the trees!"

"That's exactly right!" Professor Blackadder crowed. "Remind me to buy you a really good present this year for Christmas, Eddie my boy! I'm sorry for ever doubting you." He patted his nephew affectionately on the shoulder. "This is wonderful!"

"Fine, well, good-but what is going on?! What are elephants doing roaming about in an English wood?"

"Oh, but it's not just elephants. There are also camels here. Male camels-the females would be too expensive. They are what's causing that stink. They must be over that way a bit," he said, gesturing with his arms. "With those thunder and lightening machines strapped onto their backs. And if we can make it to the swampy area at the far side of the forest, perhaps we can catch a glimpse of that Gaul they dressed up as the Heron King!"

With that explanation, which to Lord Blackadder and Baldrick was not so much an explanation as a seemingly random and more than slightly mad collection of words and phrases, the professor ran off and disappeared into the fog.

"Oh, no! We've lost him!" Lord Blackadder groaned. "Come on, Balders. Let's find out what's going on."

"Maybe the circus is in town, my lord," suggested Baldrick hopefully.

There was another splintering crash and another ear-splitting bellow, much closer than last time. Lord Blackadder just looked at him.

"Somehow, I doubt it," he said dryly. "We have to find my mad uncle and get back to the time machine before some massive, crazed elephant mistakes it for one of those trees they're felling and we end up stuck here forever with nothing but a splintered pile of broken time machine, a wallet full of credit cards and paper money that won't be of any use for about two thousand years, and half a roll of wintergreen breath mints to sustain us in this barbaric land of our ancestors. Quickly now!"

Together they made their way through the heavy fog. Dark shapes moved about in the mist around them, never close enough to become solid objects. It was a spectral landscape, full of odd and frightening smells and sounds-there were low mutterings and sudden shouts in a foreign language which Lord Blackadder did not recognize, the smell of leather and sweat, camel stink and horse, and the sounds of trumpeting elephants and war horns in the distance.

Suddenly, there was a bright flash and a roar like the rumbling of a lion's stomach while he's waiting hungrily for his lionesses to catch his dinner.

Baldrick yelped.

"What was that, my lord?"

"Well, if I'm not mistaken, I would say that we have just seen the product of one of those thunder and lightening machines my mad uncle was babbling about just before he sodded off."

Baldrick looked up at his lord with wide, brown eyes.

"I'm sort of frightened, my lord, if you know what I mean. Everything's so misty and smelly and strange. Is this forest haunted?"

Lord Blackadder sighed.

"No, Baldrick, it's not. However, that is obviously what these people, whoever they are, want those they are fighting, whoever they are and if that is what they are actually doing, to think." He stroked his trim beard thoughtfully. "It's really quite brilliant, actually. If it's the year 43 AD and if we are still in England, I would suppose the natives here have never seen an elephant before. Or smelled a camel, for that matter. But I do wish someone could tell me what is happening here."

"Here! What are you two doing out there?"

The two men started and spun around. Directly behind them were two Roman soldiers. One was tallish and slender with a large nose and beady, round eyes. He was dressed in a black uniform and a black helmet with a mohawk of black horsehair running along the center. The other was more than a head shorter and had a gritty, scabby face that looked as if it had been shaved with a dull pebble. He was dressed in a filthy, tattered uniform which looked as if it had been on him long enough to grow a into a sort of second skin. From his bearing, he was apparently of lowly status, probably the equivalent of a Private in the modern army. His companion held himself more like an officer, probably the equivalent of a Captain. They stopped short when they could see the features of the strangers clearly through the chill, thick, blanketing mist. For a moment, the four men simply stood there, gaping at each other. Then, as one, they all took a step back with an exclamation of amazement, shock, and trepidation.

"By Jupiter's thunder and Vulcan's forge!" the taller, darker of the two Romans exclaimed. "Who in Pluto's dark realm of the underworld are you two? And why are you dressed so strangely? I have never seen such cloth! And, whatever are those?" he asked, pointing at Lord Blackadder's trousers.

"What, these?" he asked. "They're trousers, of course."

The Roman Blackadder circled him, his round eyes traveling up and down his trousers admiringly.

"Those seem a nice change from these short leather skirts we soldiers are forced to wear. They're pretty drafty come winter, you know, and wandering the countryside with bare knees is just folly, if you ask me. Have you ever tried riding a horse in a leather miniskirt?"

Lord Blackadder shook his head.

"No, I can't say that I have."

The soldier nodded.

"Well, the less said about that sort of experience the better! Do you know where I could get a pair?"

Lord Blackadder took a deep breath, thinking fast. These two were obviously his and Baldrick's distant ancestors. He knew that he had to be very careful to make sure that his words had no effect on their fated actions. However, before he could open his mouth to let his (hopefully) convincing lies slither out, Baldrick had opened his own, which, when left to its own devices, usually released the guileless truth.

"Well, it would be rather difficult for you to buy a pair, Mr. Roman Blackadder, sir, since Harrods hasn't been built yet. We're from the future you see, sir, and we've come here in our time machine because Lord Blackadder's Uncle Edmund, who's now gone missing, wanted to see your circus."

The Roman couldn't have looked more confused if he had suddenly landed in the middle of a college classroom, been handed a thick calculus exam, and told to compute the answers in his head. Baldrick's words were as totally incomprehensible to him as the calculus (which still had to wait about seventeen centuries or so before being invented by a scientist called Isaac Newton, though that claim would have been hotly contested by this other scientist called Liebnitz) would have been.

Lord Blackadder smacked Baldrick upside the head.

"You really are an imbecile, aren't you, Baldrick. Don't you realize the danger of opening your mouth? You could change all of history with just one misplaced, ill-chosen word. Now, shut-up and leave everything to me."

Baldrick nodded and stood silently in his dirty sneakers, now uncomfortably damp and clammy because of the mist and the wet grass, wiggling his toes to keep them warm. Lord Blackadder stepped forward, steepling his fingers with a small smile.

"Please excuse my servant," he said. "He hasn't got a brain."

The Roman Blackadder nodded his understanding.

"I sympathize. Mine's just the same. So, now, really. Who are you?"

Lord Blackadder held up a finger.

"Perhaps, before I answer that, you could answer a question of mine."

"Perhaps. What is it?"

"Well, I was wandering around in the mist just now, and I couldn't help but notice that something a bit out of the ordinary was going on. Do you think you could just enlighten me as to what that is?"

The Roman Baldrick looked shocked.

"You mean to say that you don't know about the great battle what's taking place this very morning?"

The Roman Blackadder, taking his inspiration from his descendent, smacked his own Baldrick upside the head.

"What this devishly handsome, if bizarrely dressed, stranger said to his servant goes for you too. Shut-up."

"Yes, sir."

The Roman Blackadder smacked him again.

"What did I say about keeping your mouth shut? Don't speak unless you're spoken to."

He turned to his descendent.

"Sorry about that. But how do I know you're not some kind of spy for the Britons, sent here to find out all our battle plans and tell them to the barbarian enemy?"

His distant descendent adjusted his already straight posture.

"I assure you, sir, I only seek this knowledge for my own edification. I am a well respected nobleman descended from a long line of aristocrats who have served as highly influential members of the largest Empire on Earth, upon which, it was said, the sun never set. I would therefore consider it beneath my station to act as a common spy for a hoard of uncivilized barbarians."

"Oh, so you're a Roman too."

The Roman soldier looked relieved. Lord Blackadder realized suddenly that he was quite young, perhaps twenty years his junior. He blinked. It was a rather disturbing thought, being older by two decades than one's long, long, long-dead ancestor. He decided to try not to think about it.

The young Roman's relief apparently didn't last long for he narrowed his eyes and leaned forward to shoot another question at Lord Blackadder.

"Wait just a moment. If you're Roman, how is it that you are here on this cold, damp island on the morning of a great battle, yet you claim to know absolutely nothing about it."

Lord Blackadder thought quickly.

"Well, you see, I came here on holiday from the stresses and worries of my position. I'd only been here a day before I suddenly found troops of soldiers camping in the garden and herds of elephants roaming through the wood. Naturally, I was a bit surprised."

He grimaced slightly at the glaring implausibility of this slap-dash fib, but plowed ahead nonetheless.

"However, no one has yet been able to tell me what is going on!"

The young Roman looked satisfied.

"Oh, all right then. You seem trustworthy enough. Not to mention uncannily familiar. Have we met before? At the Baths, perhaps?"

Lord Blackadder shook his head rather too enthusiastically.

"Oh, no. Never."

The soldier shrugged.

"It doesn't matter. Here, look, I'll do you this favor. The Emperor himself is due to arrive soon. Baldrickus and I were just on our way to meet him and to learn of the master plan for the battle. I'll let you join us and listen in if you promise to keep out of sight and quiet. Otherwise, it will mean Baldrickus's head."

Baldrickus looked up in alarm.

The Roman Blackadder fixed his gaze upon his descendent.

"Well? What do you say?"

Lord Blackadder looked down at his own Baldrick, then back at his ancient Roman ancestor.

"All right. You show us where, and we promise to keep silent."

"Good. Then follow me."

The Roman Blackadder led the way through the thick, smelly mists with Lord Blackadder and Baldrick following a few paces behind. They took up position behind a group of thick oak trees. From there, they had a clear view of the group of Roman soldiers assembling in the clearing before them. From the splendor of their uniforms and the bright red plumage of their helmets, it was clear that most of these soldiers were very high in rank. They were milling about, talking softly amongst themselves in a form of Latin that sounded much harsher than the Church Latin often heard in medieval chants or in the soundtracks of epic science-fiction movies.

"Here is where I must leave you," whispered the Roman Blackadder. "Just stay here and don't make a sound, and all will be well." He turned to his companion. "Come, Baldrickus."

Together they tramped off through the trees and into the clearing, the Roman Blackadder taking up position directly in front of the place where his descendent was hiding. Baldrickus was so well camouflaged in his filthy, tattered uniform that his form simply melted away into the misty landscape. The time travelers wouldn't have been able to pick him out from the trees and grassy, earthen mounds if they'd tried.

Just then, a two-trumpet fanfare sounded through the trees and a small party of soldiers materialized through the mist. A strong, thin, sinewy hand took hold of Lord Blackadder's shoulder and squeezed. Lord Blackadder jumped about six feet in the air, but somehow managed not to cry out. Once he had landed, he spun on his heel to see who had grabbed him. It was his Uncle Edmund, his eyes bright and his cheeks flushed.

"Did you hear that?," the professor breathed. "It means the Emperor is about to arrive!"

Lord Blackadder wracked his brains trying to recall the names of any Roman emperors who had invaded England at such an early date.

"Do you mean Julius Caesar?"

The professor gave him a look that made him feel about two feet tall.

"No, you foolish boy. Julius Caesar was never an emperor! Besides, he was murdered about a century or so before this. It's Claudius the First who's arriving. He was Julius Caesar's nephew Octavian's—who later came to be called Augustus Caesar—step-grandson through his second wife Livia's second son Drusus Nero from her first marriage. His mother was Antonia, the daughter of Octavia, Augustus' sister, and of Mark Antony, who later cheated on Octavia with Cleopatra, the famous Egyptian Queen. Through Antonia, Claudius was Augustus' grandnephew. What do they teach you children in schools these days?"

Lord Blackadder, who had sort of zoned out during the long string of relations his uncle had just recited—partly because it was confusing and mostly because he didn't care— concealed his injured pride with a practiced look of scornful disdain.

"Claudius the First, you say? Now, there's a name that simply leaps out of the history books."

His uncle took no notice of his sarcastic tone.

"Pipe down, Edmund. I'm trying to hear what they're saying."

"You mean, you can understand ancient Latin?"

The professor shot him an exasperated look. Before he could comment, however, a tallish, plumpish, middle aged man with pure white hair, a magnificent uniform, and a regal, purple cape edged in gold limped out of the swirling mist. He smiled broadly as the gathering of soldiers saluted him with loud, affectionate hails. As they did, his head gave a sudden, involuntary twitch. He raised a hand for silence, then opened his mouth to speak. It was a few moments before anything intelligible came out.

The professor drew in a sharp breath.

"My God. It's the Emperor! And he's just as I've always pictured him."

Lord Blackadder sneered.

"So, apparently this chunky old emperor of yours not only limps and twitches, but he has some kind of speech impediment as well. How very impressive, especially with such a noble ancestry. Oh, and look. His nose is running."

"Shut-up, Edmund! You speak of what you know nothing about. Now, since you are as ignorant of the Roman tongue as your scruffy, malnourished little friend here," the muscles of Lord Blackadder's jaw tightened, "I shall act as translator for the pair of you. Now, watch closely and keep absolute silence. The Emperor is about to speak."

"G-g-greetings, my f-friends," the plump man said, and grinned. "As you know, I've j-just ar-r-rived from G-G-Gaul. I h-hear it's the big p-p-push t-today. S-so, wh-what's the sit-tuation?" The second syllable of _situation_ sounded rather like a sneeze.

"Well, Caesar," said a big man with a rather crooked nose. He was holding a helmet stuffed with fluffy red feathers under his arm. "It seems the Britons are entrenched in some wooden forts in the middle of this forest here. They are very well protected, and not only by this blasted fog. The wood is full of dangerous undergrowth and prickly briar bushes, and there's no getting around it because there's a swamp over on the other side. Their leader, Caractacus, is believed to be lodged in these forts."

"V-Very well. H-how d-do you sug-gest we g-g-get at him, th-then?"

The soldier puffed his chest out proudly.

"Well, we have been discussing this for quite some time now, and we thought that the best course of action would be a frontal attack. We shall charge blindly right through the dense underbrush straight at those barbaric Britons in a glorious suicide attack. We won't be able to use our horses, of course, our knees will naturally get badly scratched by the brambles, and we really don't know much about the layout of these woods, though our enemies most certainly do. But, we would have those African warriors, as well as those camels and elephants you brought over on that huge ship, as a back-up defense just in case none of us makes it out alive. What do you think?"

The emperor wrinkled his brow.

"Erm, I d-don't kn-now. I'm not qu-quite sure if all these brave soldiers would l-like to die in a g-glorious suicide at-tack. And, wh-what of their p-poor mothers, s-sisters, and wi-wives at h-home?"

The soldier gave him a patronizing smile.

"Forgive me, but you speak like a civilian, my emperor. We Romans live for the spilling of blood. Our own or our enemies', it doesn't matter so long as the battle is glorious! The honorable death of your battle chums means rapid promotion for yourself! Believe me Caesar, this is the only way."

The emperor looked thoughtful.

"N-no. I do-n't think so." His _don't_ sounded almost like a hiccup.

The soldier pursed his lips, trying to hold in his annoyance.

"Very well then. What would you suggest we do, Caesar?"

"L-let me th-think about it for a m-m-moment."

The soldiers rolled their eyes, but humored their emperor. The plump, aging man limped back and forth for a time, his brow screwed up in intense concentration. Several of the assembled soldiers began to fidget. Lord Blackadder and Baldrick did likewise.

Suddenly, a smallish lump the time travelers had mistaken for a lumpy, pungent pile of earth heaved itself to its feet with a small grunt and scampered over to the black-clad Blackadderus. Baldrick's scabby, unshaven face broke into a huge grin.

"Why, it's Baldrickus, my lord! Isn't it amazing how, no matter what time period we land in, there always seems to be a Blackadder and a Baldrick and they're always together?"

"Yes, quite," said Lord Blackadder shortly. "Now shut-up." He turned to his uncle. "Uncle, you're closest. Can you tell us what it is they're saying?"

"I could if you'd stop talking," the professor snapped.

Lord Blackadder inclined his head in a respectful motion which was generously laced with irony, and resumed his crouching position, pulling Baldrick down beside him. They all three turned their attention to the conversation between Baldrickus and his superior, Centurion Blackadderus.

"Sir, sir!"

Blackadderus turned to face his subordinate.

"Yes, what is it Baldrickus? And keep it short. The emperor is thinking."

"Yes, so have I been, sir!"

"You've been what?"

"Thinking, sir!"

Blackadderus rolled his eyes.

"Oh, well, I've always said anything is possible in this world. Very well, tell me your thoughts." To himself, he muttered, "Or whatever it is you have that pass for thoughts."

Baldrickus leaned forward with a sly grin creasing his scruffy, dirt-streaked face.

"I have a cunning plan, sir."

Blackadderus raised his eyes to the heavens with a groan.

"Oh, gods!"

"Yes, sir. I was thinking that if we could get up and ride those elephants, like they do in the arena, we could march through the forest no problem!"

Blackadderus nodded slowly.

"Well, that would be a good plan, Baldrickus, if we wanted our enemies to run away from us as quickly as possible in utter terror instead of coming out of their forts fighting."

Baldrickus looked confused.

"Do we want them to come out and fight?"

"Yes, of course we do! How else could we crush their resistance and capture their leaders?"

"But, I thought you hated fighting, sir. I thought that the idea of several thousand mud-encrusted barbarians coming at you with the express intention of impaling your torso with pointy objects made you somewhat uncomfortable."

Blackadderus chuckled uncomfortably, looking around to make sure there were no other soldiers near enough to have heard Baldrickus' statement. Then, he grabbed Baldrickus by his tattered leather tunic and brought the little man up to eye level with him.

"Listen, tiny brain. Just because I happen to have a healthy respect for the value of human life, namely my own, it doesn't mean that I am such a coward as to run away from a good fight. And if anyone ever implies otherwise, you are to repeat this to them. Got it?"

"Yes, sir," Baldrickus gasped.

Blackadderus let go of his tunic and the little man fell unsteadily to his feet.

"So, what would you suggest we do, sir?" Baldrickus asked, somewhat sulkily.

"Me? Well, I would suggest we wait for them to come charging out of their own initiative, then let those African soldiers fight, along with all those camels. Those Britons certainly wouldn't be expecting that. They would surrender at once and the day would be ours."

"Do you really believe that, sir?"

"No, not entirely. But then, it is not I who must come up with the true cunning plan that will win the day. That is for our emperor."

Just then, the lone purple figure in the center of the misty clearing gave a sudden start and limp-ran back through the sodden grass to his commanders.

"Eurek-k-ka!" he exclaimed.

The soldier with the plumed helmet and the crooked nose stepped forward eagerly.

"You've thought of a plan, Caesar?"

The emperor reached up and patted him on his broad shoulder.

"Y-yes I ha-have, M-melchet-tus! And it is absolut-tely b-brilliant, if I do s-say so m-m-myself!"

"Do tell, sir!"

The emperor rubbed his hands together in excitement.

"All r-right, here it is. You!"

He pointed to Baldrickus. The scruffy little man tramped eagerly forward. Blackadderus looked unhappy.

"Yes, Caesar?"

"G-go and f-f-fetch me that F-frenchman who comes from that sw-w-wampy area of G-gaul. You know, the one who can walk on stilts?"

Baldrickus nodded.

"Yes, Caesar."

"Good, th-then go g-get that stilt-walking Frenchman, a-and the h-head c-camel k-keeper. We've already g-got the ele-lephants busy in the f-forest. We've g-got to let those c-camels do something. Otherwise, what was t-the use of bringing them?"

"Don't know, Caesar."

"That's all r-r-right. Now, g-go and fetch them! Qu-quickly now!"

"Yes, Caesar." Baldrickus saluted, then scampered off into the mist.

Caesar turned back to his commanders.

"W-what a p-p-eculiar smelling little man. Now, the p-plan. It is a well kn-nown fact that the B-britons are m-most d-deadly when they f-fight on their little war chariots, right?"

"Yes, Caesar."

"I th-thought so. Now, wh-what do th-they use to p-pull these little war ch-chariots of theirs?"

"Little war ponies, Caesar."

Caesar nodded.

"And wh-what can make any p-p-pony b-buck and shy and just generally refuse to c-comply with its master's w-wishes?"

The group of soldiers looked at each other, trying to figure out where their emperor was going with this.

"Um, an earthquake?"

"A squirrel cutting across the road at night?"

"A great big forest fire?"

"A ghost?"

The emperor started to shake his head, but was interrupted by a twitch. He brought a corner of his cape up to wipe a drip from his nose.

"N-no! C-camel stink! If they're not used to it, it d-drives them absolutely m-mad."

The gathered soldiers looked enlightened.

"Oooohhhhh!"

"We w-will arrange the camels here, where the B-britons will come with their chariots. We will strap my m-mad n-nephew's, that is, the l-l-late Emperor G-gaius C-caligula's, thunder and l-lightening machines to their b-backs. So, wh-when the B-b-britons come r-rolling in, n-not only will their p-ponies sud-denly rebel for seeming-l-ly n-no r-reason, but this c-confoundedly chilly mist wi-will be full of sp-pooky flashes of l-l-light and cr-reepy r-rumblings as well!"

"Oh, wonderful, Caesar!" Melchettus enthused. "So, we scare the Britons out of their britches. Then what?"

"Then, g-good M-melchet-tus, we attack! We'll have the Africans beat some d-drums and call out some w-war cries, t-then at-tack with t-their sp-pears and th-things, and w-we'll co-come up and comp-plete the c-crushing defeat of our enemies!"

Blackadderus stepped forward.

"Excuse me, Caesar-"

The emperor turned to face him.

"Yes? W-who are y-you?"

"Centurion Blackadderus, Caesar."

"Oh. Interesting u-uniform, B-blackadderus. I've n-never seen a b-black one before. Well, w-what is it you have to say?"

"I just have one question, Caesar. What if we scare the Britons so badly that they decide it would be better not to stick around for the actual battle-if you know what I mean? What if they were to run away? They are uncivilized barbarians after all. We can't expect them to behave as nobly as we Romans."

Caesar laughed.

"Well, wh-what do you t-think I want that G-gaul for? And what d-do you imagine those elephants are d-doing in the for-rest? They're to c-cut off any ch-chance of the B-britons escap-ping!"

Blackadderus bowed, but did not step back.

"The elephants, I understand, sir. But-Caesar, forgive me if I fail to see how one Frenchman balanced on a pair of stilts could be enough to halt the frantic retreat of several thousand panicked Britons. Wouldn't they just knock him over and keep on going?"

Caesar grinned.

"Usually, y-yes. B-ut, you do n-not yet kn-now the full extent of m-my cunning p-plan!"

"What is the rest of your plan, Caesar?" Melchettus asked respectfully.

"Well, I was thinking that if we dressed this Frenchman up like one of the Britons' gods, it would frighten them so badly they would be unable to retreat. It would be a choice between being gobbled up by an angry god, or hacked to pieces by our soldiers. And, with all this fog, they will be hard pressed to realize the wrathful god is really only a French farmer on stilts."

"But, how will we know which god to dress our Frenchman up as?" asked Melchettus. "I wasn't even aware these Britons had a religion."

"Oh, y-yes. They d-do. I w-was thinking we could d-dress him up as one of their more p-p-powerful g-gods, the Heron K-king."

Melchettus let out a short bray of laughter.

"You mean, all we have to do is to dress this Frenchman up as a great, big bird and the Britons will be intimidated enough to halt their retreat and let us slaughter them and take them prisoner?"

The emperor nodded.

"That's r-right."

"Why, I must say, Caesar, this is certainly the most unorthodox battle plan I have ever heard of in my entire career! Imagine, using our enemies' own superstitions and fears against them to win a battle which otherwise would have been incredibly costly on our side. It's such a strange idea, it just might work!"

"Th-thank you, Melchet-tus. D-do you understand now, B-blackad-derus?" the emperor asked, turning back to the young, black-clad soldier.

"Yes, Caesar. A masterful plan, if I do say so myself."

The emperor grinned.

"Very g-good!"

Just then, Baldrickus reappeared from out of the mist, followed by a tall, thin man on stilts and another man leading a camel with a strange looking device strapped to its hump.

"Caesar," he said with a short salute. "I have brought the stilt-walker from Gaul. And the camel keeper, too."

The emperor's grin broadened.

"Wonderful, wonderful! M-melchet-tus, you ar-range for the F-frenchman's c-costume and explain the p-plan to the camel keeper. Now, someone fetch P-p-penelope, my horse. It's t-time to p-prepare for b-battle!" He nudged Baldrickus in a comradely fashion. "You kn-now, I am ever so excited. This is my first b-battle, you know. I do hope it all g-goes well."

"I'm sure it will, Caesar," Baldrickus replied cheerfully. "Everybody loves a circus."

The emperor gave him a strange look, then shook his head and turned to address the gathered soldiers.

"May good f-fortune be with you all this d-day. You are all d-d-dismissed."

The soldiers let out a loud cheer. A horse was led into the clearing and the emperor was helped up onto her. The cheers didn't end until he had ridden out of sight into the fog. Then, the group split up.

Blackadderus strode back to the collection of oak trees where his descendants were hiding, followed by Baldrickus. He looked startled when he saw the professor had joined them.

"Oh, another one. And he looks just like you, Lord Blackadder. Are you related at all?"

"Yes, actually. He's my uncle," Lord Blackadder replied, a bit sourly.

"Oh, very good. So, what do you think of our emperor?" Blackadderus asked. "Clever, no?"

Lord Blackadder nodded.

"Quite."

Baldrickus stepped forward and tugged at Blackadderus' cape. Blackadderus turned to face him.

"Yes, what is it, Baldrickus?"

"Permission to speak, O Centurion Blackadderus?"

Blackadderus glanced at Lord Blackadder.

"What do you think? Should I let him?"

Lord Blackadder shrugged.

"Oh, go ahead."

"Very well, Baldrickus, permission to speak."

"Well, I was just thinking, sir, that it's strange you would suddenly be complimenting the Emperor on his cleverness because when he first became Emperor after his mad nephew the late Emperor Gaius 'Little Boots' Caligula was murdered, you said that he was a fool and a limping, stuttering idiot, that even I could beat him in a game of wits, and that with his election by the guards being upheld by the Senate, Rome had all but flushed herself down the loo."

Blackadderus had gone rather red in the face while Baldrickus was speaking. Now, he looked uncomfortably at his descendants and their scruffy companion, trying to think how best to refute this without seeming a hypocrite.

"Well, the truth is, nobody knew then that the Emperor Claudius had a brain. He had always been looked down upon by his family because all his varied childhood illnesses had left him with a limp, a stutter, and a twitch. Now, however, it is quite obvious to all that the very fact that everyone, and I am not leaving myself out of this group, believed him to be an utter moron for most of his life is proof that he is actually quite brilliant. He found a way to be overlooked by the over-ambitious, insane, immensely powerful members of his family. He learned to play the fool, and very convincingly too, I might add. Because of this, he lived to become Emperor at the age of fifty, while most of the rest of his family had been killed off by plots and poison long before middle age. In fact, now I come to think of it, his life now would be absolutely perfect if it wasn't for his wife."

"What do you mean?" asked Lord Blackadder with interest.

Blackadderus looked shocked.

"You mean you haven't heard about the Lady Messalina? Our young, beautiful, mad, nymphomaniac of an empress? Forgive me, but you must have been living in a hole! Her behavior is a scandal I thought was known to all but her husband. The Empress has been cheating on old Claudius for ages. It's said she has a different man every day of the week. The problem is, she has the Emperor wrapped so tightly around her little finger she can get him to do anything for her. And he, the poor man, is so blindly head-over-heels in love with her that everyone's afraid to tell him the truth about her. And, the fact that she's already had several men executed for refusing to share her bed hasn't helped matters all that much." He sighed. "I wish I was stationed in Rome."

"Me too, O Centurion," Baldrickus added.

Blackadderus looked down at Baldrickus with narrowed eyes.

"Yes, well, she probably would even have you, Baldrickus. It's said that when it comes to men she doesn't care who they are or what they look like as long as they'll go along with anything she suggests. I'm sure she wouldn't notice an ape in a toga. She really is mad. You can see it in her eyes. It's interesting to think what wild parties she might be throwing, what kind of depraved acts she might be performing, while the Emperor's away. She's only just out of her 'teens, you know."

Blackadderus looked wistful.

"If a clever, unscrupulous young man could get to her, who knows, perhaps after the emperor dies of old age, which can't take all that long now-he is in his fifties after all-the Claudian family would lose its grip on the empire, leaving room for a new Roman dynasty." He sighed again. "I wish I was stationed in Rome."

Just then, Professor Blackadder spoke up. His pale cheeks were flushed and his brown eyes were bright with questioning interest.

"You know, this is truly amazing. You are speaking Latin, correct?"

Blackadderus looked confused at the question.

"Of course I am. Aren't you?"

"No, we're speaking in English," Baldrick replied.

Blackadderus looked even more confused.

"What's English?"

The professor waved his question away.

"Never mind that. I just mean to say that all three of us can clearly understand everything that you are saying. This is really quite remarkable. I must admit I have absolutely no idea why this should be." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Perhaps it has something to do with the similarities of our brain waves or something. I'll have to consult Professor Paulson about this once I get back to Oxford."

"What?" Blackadderus felt as lost and drifting as a boat floating in lazy circles downstream.

Lord Blackadder took his ancestor by the shoulder and walked forward with him a few paces.

"Don't mind him," he said in a low, confidential tone. "He's a bit, you know, senile."

The light of understanding dawned on Blackadderus' face.

"Oh. I see."

He turned back to the time travelers.

"Well, it's time for Baldrickus and me to be going now. We'll be wanted in the rear guard when the battle starts."

"Oh, yes," said Lord Blackadder. "Don't let us keep you from your duty."

"Wait," the professor called as Blackadderus and Baldrickus turned to leave, "before you go, I must thank you for allowing us to listen in on this little bit of history. This experience has been absolutely marvelous! To see one of your boyhood heroes in the flesh-indescribable!" He strode forward and placed his hands on Lord Blackadder's shoulders. "And I have you to thank for it, dear boy. I shall never forget this, Eddie, never!"

Lord Blackadder gave him a thin-lipped smile.

"Oh, good. So, you'll come with us, then, and be our guide?"

"Certainly! I feel I must be dreaming, but everything is so solid here-the trees, the people, even that great pile of elephant turd I slipped in while I was running back here-oh, it's just so wonderful I know that I'm awake!"

Lord Blackadder wrinkled his nose.

"Ah. So, that explains _that_ smell. I was afraid it was Baldrick. You're going to have to wipe that all off before you step back into my time machine, you know. I have no desire to travel around time in a wooden box that smells as bad as the latrine its interior resembles."

The professor looked down at his slimy, green and brown elephant turd-enveloped shoes.

"Oh, yes, of course my boy. I wouldn't dream of dirtying your miraculous machine by tracking the fecal matter of a pachyderm all over its nice wooden floor."

"I'll wipe them clean for you, sir," Baldrickus offered from behind the staring Blackadderus.

"Oh, would you, lad? That's very kind."

The professor sat heavily on a rock that was only slightly damp and kicked off his reeking shoes. Baldrickus knelt down in the sodden grass, took a tattered, stained rag from somewhere within the recesses of his uniform, and began carefully wiping all traces of turd from the professor's sensible shoes. When he had finished, he meticulously folded his rag so that all the odiferous green goop was on the inside, then stuffed it back into his uniform.

All present wrinkled their noses in revulsion.

"If I may ask, Baldrickus," said Baldrick, his nose as wrinkled as the others', "why did you stuff that turdy hanky back into your uniform?"

"Oh, well," Baldrickus replied with a sly grin, "it's to have a little somewhat to nibble on for afters, Baldrick. It's hard to find real quality dung nowadays."

Lord Blackadder stepped in before anything more could be said.

"Yes, thank you Baldrickus, but we really must be going now. Lovely meeting you, Blackadderus. Wish I could say the same about you, Baldrickus. Good bye."

Blackadderus raised his arm in a Roman salute. "Farewell."

Once the time travelers had melted away into the fog, Blackadderus turned to Baldrickus.

"Come on, Balders. Let's go find a nice, thick bush to hide behind until this crazy battle's over. What do you say?"

"I say that is a brilliant idea, O Centurion."

As they strode off through the clearing, a strange figure materialized behind them out of the mist. It was the Frenchman on stilts, only now he had cloth-covered wicker wings strapped to his arms and a long beak tied to his head. He was trying to get into his part. Carefully, he waddled stiff legged across the clearing, waving his arms and nodding his head, which caused the great beak to open and close. He made a ridiculous figure bobbing about, trying to imitate a heron's walk. Unfortunately, before he had taken ten steps, one of his stilts sank into a rabbit hole, causing him to topple over in a flurry of waving wings. His colloquial expletive, which he delivered with great depth of feeling, was swallowed up by the mist.

* * *

Safely back in the time machine, hurtling back towards late 1950s Oxford, Baldrick sat back on his toilet seat and sighed.

"You know something, my lord? That Baldrickus was probably the most revolting little man I have ever met. I mean, who ever heard of eating the dung of an elephant what's been scraped off of a stranger's shoes for afters? It's almost enough to put one off one's dinner."

Lord Blackadder peered at him through slitted eyelids.

"That's funny, Baldrick. I thought eating dung was something of a tradition in your family."

"Oh, no, my lord! We gave that up ages ago."

Lord Blackadder raised his eyebrows.

"Oh?"

"Yes, my lord. You see, after my great-uncle, Baldrick, was accepted into the military during the First World War, our family moved up in status. We don't have to eat dung anymore. For us modern Baldricks, the thought of eating dung is almost enough to put us off our dinner, like I said before."

"Ah ha. You know, I'm almost afraid to ask this, Baldrick, but what do you plan on eating for dinner?"

"Well, I was hoping for a great big burger with special sauce and a great big bag of bacon and pickle crisps on the side."

"Yes. And, just out of morbid curiosity, what might this 'special sauce' be comprised of?"

"Well, it's not really sauce, my lord, its more of a kind of mixture of phlegm and chocolate milk what's been mixed together with two heaping spoonfuls of green pickle relish."

"Excuse me, Nephew, but I fear I will to be forced to put these toilets to use if you two go on talking in this graphic manner."

"So sorry, Uncle. I just find it comforting to know that no matter how advanced human civilization has become over the millennia, the revolting contents of a Baldrick's plate remains ever constant."

"Well, except for the dung."

"Yes, Baldrick, except for the dung," Lord Blackadder replied briskly. He turned. "Now, Uncle, I want to take this opportunity to explain to you the purpose of my proposed trip through time, and just why I want you to come with me as a guide."

"Oh, please do, my boy. I was getting quite curious, you know."

"Yes, well, how should I explain this." He stroked his beard as he thought. "I'll start at the beginning I think. All right." He straightened and folded his hands in his lap.

"Well, I have this personal tradition, going back to my childhood, of always playing a practical joke at New Years. And every year, I find it harder and harder to top the magnificent jape I pulled the year before. Well, this year-meaning 1999-I knew I had to come up with the ultimate gag. For this was to be the gag that would bring the Blackadder family into the new millennium. It had to be utterly fantastic, and yet, at the same time, completely plausible as well. So, after three months of exhaustive pondering, I came upon a brilliant plan. Using the blueprints found in an original book of Leonardo Da Vinci's inventions that I had just picked up at a museum auction somewhere, I decided to build a time machine. Not a working one, of course, for that would be impossible. But one convincing enough to fool four of my oldest-now, how should I put this? Not friends, surely. Chums? No. Acquaintances? Well, let's just say four people whom I have known for an embarrassingly long time. The plan was this: I would invite them all down to look at this supposed time machine after supper, and there I would ask them to name three objects which I would then deliver to them after stepping into the time machine. The joke was that Baldrick would be down in the basement listening to every word we said. He would go through all the crates of ju-I mean family heirlooms-that I've got stored down there and bring the requested items with him into the time machine through a trap door in the floor. It's right there, where your foot is, Uncle."

"Oh, yes. I see it. Do go on."

"They would all then believe that I had in fact been to the past and brought these artifacts back with me. Well, the plan worked perfectly. That is, until Baldrick here started messing with the knobs and levers and buttons on that panel over there."

He gestured towards the panel to make his point.

"This is where I went wrong. You see, being a lord I am naturally very busy. I have great demands on my time. So, that means I had no time to spare to assemble the time machine myself. Never imagining how badly the process of constructing a wooden box and gluing convincing wheels to it could be muddled by a moron who couldn't even read, I assigned the task to Baldrick."

Here he fixed a dark, piercing glare on the scabby little man.

"Well, it wasn't entirely my fault, my lord," Baldrick piped from his corner toilet seat. "You did say to follow the instructions to the letter. You said that if I made it just as the pictures said, there could be no chance of failure. And there wasn't, was there? I mean, the time machine works, don't it?"

"Yes, of course it works, pea brain. That much is obvious. I was just explaining that it wasn't meant to work!"

"Yes, good, I understand," Professor Blackadder interrupted. "But, what happened when you found out that it did work? If I'm not mistaken, I believe I heard you mention something about dinosaurs earlier."

Lord Blackadder drew in a long breath and turned his gaze to the ceiling. "Ah, yes. The dinosaur. Tell Uncle Edmund about our encounter with old Tyrannosaurus R., will you, Balders?"

"Oh, certainly, my lord. It would be my pleasure."

He turned to face Professor Blackadder, his earnest, brown eyes bright with the memory.

"It was all very exciting, really," he said. "What happened was, I pulled that lever there and then the whole time machine started to shake. When it stopped, Lord Blackadder opened the door. He was very happy at first, because he thought he had just won thirty thousand pounds, but then he went all quiet like he does when he's deciding whether to hit me or not and I turned round. Instead of the lower room, like we expected, we saw a jungle. And it was raining and thundering, and there was lava and all. Then, there came this great big dinosaur! He had teeth like giant knives and breath that could melt the spines off a cactus! I'm talking world-class foulness, here! He nosed the door, roaring and roaring. He was so loud I thought my ears would burst. But, Lord Blackadder stayed calm. He told me to do something, so I screamed."

Professor Blackadder nodded.

"Well, that's understandable. What did that do?"

"It made me feel a little better. Then Lord Blackadder told me to do something useful, so I threw all the boots and helmets and things I'd collected for his friends at the brute's great snout. However, that didn't do much, so we stuck my underpants on the end of a broom and I held them out to him shouting, 'Sniff my skids!' Next thing I knew, the great beast was dead. Lord Blackadder says it was my pants what killed off all the dinosaurs." Baldrick looked thoughtful. "I must admit, they were a bit whiffy."

Professor Blackadder leaned back a little further from Baldrick.

"May I ask, if the question doesn't offend you at all, when was the last time you had changed your underpants before that interesting adventure?"

"I had never changed my underpants before that time, sir."

The professor nodded slowly.

"I see."

Lord Blackadder stood and smoothed the wrinkles out of his trousers.

"Yes, well, enough of this. It is time to reveal the ultimate objective of this little sojourn through time."

The professor clasped his hands in his lap attentively.

"I assure you, my boy, I am all ears."

Lord Blackadder shot a glance at his uncle's large ears.

"Yes, quite. Now, as you know, at some unknown time between the reign of Elizabeth I and the American Revolution, the fortunes of the Blackadder family plummeted and our formally aristocratic ancestors were forced to live as common lower-middle class workers and finally to enter the military in hopes of regaining our former status by rising honorably through the ranks."

The professor nodded slowly.

"Yes. It was that very mystery I was researching at the moment you dropped in. Unfortunately, I have not yet been able to uncover much. In fact, I was starting to doubt whether I would ever know the truth of our family's unexplained descent from the nobility."

Lord Blackadder's face fell.

"You mean, you don't know when or to whom this tragedy occurred?"

"That is correct. It really is too bad you couldn't be bothered to purchase a copy of my completed book before you came to fetch me."

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Then, the professor continued, "But you still haven't told me your plan."

Lord Blackadder sighed through his nose.

"Well, I was planning on going back to that time and finding a way to prevent our family fortunes from failing and our social standing from slipping." In the back of his throat, he muttered, "After that, the rest would have been easy."

"The rest of what?"

Lord Blackadder looked down at his quiet, bookish, unambiguous uncle and shook his head.

"Nothing."

The professor shot him his uncle-ish 'I'm not buying this' look. Lord Blackadder thought quickly.

"I mean, my life. It would have been much easier. It was very difficult to con-I mean, earn-the title of Lord Blackadder, you know. Politics, my chosen field of battle, is a very tangled subject. It took a great many years of very hard work to get my name on the Honors List. These titles are none too cheap, you know. I know that Grandfather tried for it after the war, but he didn't get it. I was just thinking how much better life would have been, for all of us really, not just for myself, if our family had never suffered its fall. And it was with this purpose in mind that I sought you out to assist me. Knowing how keen you are on our family's history, I thought you would leap at the chance. Also, with a healthy family fortune behind you, you would find it much easier to get published and recognized than you have previously."

The professor smiled.

"Very clever, Eddie, very clever indeed. I have the sneaking suspicion that you are not being completely honest with me, but I do sympathize with you. However, I fear I must decline your offer. Messing about with history is very dangerous. One wrong word at just the wrong moment and everything warm and familiar could vanish, like a Liberty ship sailing through the Bermuda Triangle. And if you tamper with the history of our family, you run the risk of making it so you were never born at all. I'm sure you wouldn't like that. Besides, rewriting history to suit your own selfish desires is wrong, no matter how prettily you phrase and package it."

Lord Blackadder nodded his head slowly.

"Yes, Uncle," he said submissively.

Inside, however, his head was screaming with any number of violent expletives. For, he had only told his uncle part of his plan. Lord Edmund Blackadder wanted to be King. Not the modern figurehead-type monarch of the England he knew, but the absolute, Machiavellian, divine-right, parliament-less type of King with a capital K that the English Civil War had abolished in the mid-1600s. And, he had hoped that with the historical knowledge his uncle possessed, and with a little subtle fibbing on his part, his ambitions would be fulfilled quickly and easily. He hadn't counted on his uncle's over-active conscience to get in his way. Now he was sorry he'd thought to bring the stuffy old man along at all.

Just then, there was a sharp thump and the time machine shuddered for a moment, then came to rest.

"Well, Uncle," he said with forced regret, "here's where you leave us, then. Sorry for disturbing your work."

Professor Blackadder stood and walked over to squeeze his nephew's shoulder.

"Don't apologize, my boy. I had a grand time. Absolutely tip-top. I thank you."

His nephew gave him a weak smile.

"You're welcome, Uncle."

The professor gave him one last look before pulling on the rope that would open the door.

"Now, boy, take my advice and go back home. Stop this ill-advised meddling with time. You've got wealth and a title, and you've earned them yourself. Go home and enjoy them. I'm proud of you, Eddie."

Lord Blackadder struggled not to roll his eyes.

"Yes, thank you, Uncle."

"Well, good bye, Nephew."

"Good bye, Uncle."

With that, Professor Blackadder pulled on the rope. The ramp door lowered to the ground with a series of dull, wooden clicks. The professor took a step forward, then stopped short.

"Erm, Edmund?"

Lord Blackadder turned to look at him.

"Yes, Uncle?"

"I think you should look at this."

Lord Blackadder strode forward and peered out of the doorway.

They were in the middle of an alleyway. Horses pulled carriages and wagons back and forth in the main street ahead. The air smelled of old hay, unwashed people, and horse droppings.

"Ah ha."

He spun on the heel of his polished, leather shoe and looked mildly at Baldrick, who was still sitting calmly on his toilet seat.

"Baldrick?"

"Yes, my lord?"

"What date did you set the time machine for?"

"The one you said, my lord. 1959."

"Baldrick, I'm sorry to contradict you, but judging from the look of the world outside, this is anything but 1959."

Baldrick stood and shuffled over to the control panel.

"Oh, whoops."

"What is it, Baldrick?"

Baldrick turned a nervous, guilty face towards his employer.

"Well, it seems that instead of setting the date for 1959 I set it for 1778 instead."

"I see."

"Well, all these numbers do look rather the same, you know, my lord."

Lord Blackadder fixed his servant with a murderous glare.

"Yes, I was remarking to myself only the other day how similar 1778 and 1959 look to each other."

Baldrick smiled in relief.

"So, you're not angry, my lord?"

"Of course not! It's a mistake any imbecile with the mental capacity of a drunken amoeba could make. Come here, Baldrick."

Baldrick came forward.

Lord Blackadder punched him soundly, then turned back to the door.

"Sorry about this, Uncle. I should never have allowed Baldrick to-"

His uncle turned to him with a finger held perpendicularly across his lips. "Shh!"

"What is it?"

His uncle pointed out the door. A young, black haired boy, perhaps eleven years old, perhaps older, wearing grubby short pants and even grubbier knee-high stockings had just come stomping down the alley towards them. He was carrying a dead, unplucked chicken and a basket of vegetables in his arms. To the time travelers' chagrin, he stopped short when he glimpsed the time machine.

"Crikey!" he exclaimed. "What are you two doing in that there crate?"

"What do you mean, boy?" the professor asked politely.

"Oh, come off it, Dad," the boy replied. "What's happened to your wig? And why didn't you tell me Uncle Edward was coming by today?"

"I'm sorry, but you must have us confused with someone else," Lord Blackadder said.

"Here, now," said the boy, starting to get a bit angry, "what are you playing at? D'you think I don't know me own father an' uncle when I see them? I know it's you, even if you are all dressed up like jugglers at a fair. What's it like in there?"

Before they could stop him, the boy had burst into the time machine and was looking around, impressed.

"Say, is this some new kind of privy? What are those straps for? Are you afraid someone's gonna to fall in?"

He laughed. Then, he spied Baldrick at the control panel.

"Oh, hallo, Mr. Baldrick. Where'd you get those interesting shoes?"

Before Baldrick could answer or Lord Blackadder could lift the annoying child out of the time machine and pull the door shut in his face, a woman's shrill voice called out from a nearby door.

"Edmund?! Edmund Blackadder! Where are you? I heard you out here a minute ago, I know I did! Where's that chicken and those vegetables you was sent out for? If I find you've spent the money on marbles again, I'll tan your hide, you know I will!"

The boy turned white.

"Oops, there's Mum."

He rushed out of the time machine, then turned back to look once more upon its occupants.

"You three better get back to work. If Mum finds out you've been hiding out in a privy all morning, she'll really blow her top."

And with those parting words, he vanished into one of the many doors that opened onto the straw-littered ally.

Lord Blackadder leaned his head against the wall with a light thump.

"Oh, God," he groaned.

"I think I've got it set right now, my lord," Baldrick piped up from the control panel. One, nine, five, nine, right?"

The professor closed the door, then came over to check Baldrick's figures.

"Yes, that's right."

Lord Blackadder straightened.

"Then, what are we waiting for? Let's get out of this grubby, stinking alley."

The professor shot him a look.

"Really, Eddie, you shouldn't be such a snob. That boy we just met was one of our ancestors, you know. In fact, your grandfather, General Edmund Blackadder himself, grew up in a neighborhood not unlike this one..."

The professor trailed off, his head snapping up in sudden enlightenment.

"Wait a moment! These people here might know what happened to the family fortunes! If they told us, it would save me months, if not longer, of eye-straining research. Oh, Eddie! Let's stay here for a short time, just long enough, say, to introduce ourselves to the lad's mother and ask a few simple questions. We could say we're a couple of distant relatives from the country. It would only take a few short hours, and think of all the back-breaking work it would save! And, it would give you the information you wished to know in the first place."

Lord Blackadder sighed. He longed to refuse, but the prospective information proved too tempting.

"Very well," he said with lordly resignation. "We shall pay a visit to this boy's mother."

The professor opened the door once more and strode happily out into the morning air. Lord Blackadder and Baldrick followed more slowly.

"More adventures, my lord?" Baldrick asked.

"Misadventures, Baldrick. Come on, let's get this over with."

* * *

 _Until next time! :)  
_


	3. Chapter 2

**#2: 1778 A.D. Three Edmunds, Two Baldricks, and a Little Prince**

 **involving:**

 **a life-altering revelation, an unexpectedly brief apprenticeship, and a fateful first meeting**

Edmund's mother looked up from the dough she was kneading on the floury table when her son came bursting in through the door, his arms loaded with vegetables and raw, unplucked chicken. She straightened with a broad, cold smile and brushed her floury arms clean on her stained apron. Her sharp, nasal voice could have shattered glass.

"So, you are back. I thought as much. Good to see you doing some work for a change, instead of running wild round the streets with all those dirty children. It's about time you started earning your keep."

Edmund knew better than to protest, so he simply said, "Yes, Mum," and took his time peering around the kitchen. When his mother was in a bad mood, which was practically all the time, the best thing to do was to simply wait it out and try not to provoke her. Or, even better, attempt to manipulate her mood into something more favorable.

"So," he said, observing the floury disarray of the normally neat kitchen, "the lady of the house has invited guests again?"

His mother's glare hardened, but it was no longer directed at him.

"Oh, yes! The frilly, frail little thing rang for me just a half-hour ago, while you were still out dallying at the vegetable market, to inform me that she had invited ten important guests for supper last week and it had slipped her silly little lace doily of a mind until this very moment. Oh, yes, and the supper is scheduled for seven tonight, could I please have everything ready by five, there's a dear? It's nearly noon now! And I've got to cook a banquet fit for a king by five! Who does she think I am? Who does she think she is? Honestly, if her husband didn't pay so well, I think I'd just walk out."

Edmund didn't comment. He knew his mother would solve this present crisis as she had solved all the previous ones. She would buy the food ready prepared from shops, and pass it all off as her own work. He snatched a peeled carrot from a nearby table and munched thoughtfully as his mother poured out her complaints. Things like this happened every week. He waited until she had paused for breath, then spoke up.

"Could I help somehow?"

wasn't that he wanted to help. To tell the truth, he'd much rather be out in the street playing marbles with the other boys in his neighborhood. It was his day off from his own job as an errand boy at the palace, and she'd already forced him out on an errand of her own once today. But, it was always good policy to seem a willing helper when his mother got like this. It allowed her to seem a poor, overworked martyr, which usually softened her mood considerably. She usually gave out simple tasks when that happened, then let her victim off for the rest of the day so she could continue to suffer nobly in silence.

So, Edmund was grinning slyly inside when his mother gave that familiar little sigh and turned her eyes piously toward the ceiling.

"You are a good boy, Edmund. I hate to ask this of you, but you were kind enough to offer, and I do have so much to do here. If I gave you some money, do you think you could run down to old Mrs. Miggins' pie shop and buy me five of her best steak pies and two strawberry pies? Lady Fallinsbee loves strawberries, and they've just come into season."

"Yes, of course, Mother."

He swallowed the last of his carrot and scampered over to his mother's outstretched hand. She dropped several coins into his palm. He looked down in feigned confusion. "But mother, you've given me too much. The pies only cost-"

As expected, she cut him off with a little wave of her hand.

"The rest is for you, for being such a helpful boy. Run off, now, and if you're back in half an hour, I'll let you have the rest of the afternoon to yourself."

His manipulation had worked like a charm. Edmund hid his self-satisfied smirk behind a yelp of excitement, then ran out of the floury kitchen and right into Lord Blackadder.

"Ooph," grunted Lord Blackadder.

"Oi!" exclaimed Edmund.

Lord Blackadder rubbed his stomach where the boy had plowed into him.

"Oh," he said, clearly unimpressed, "it's you again. Where are you off to in such a hurry?"

"I'm just off to Mrs. Miggins's pie shop for Mum." He started to run off, then he turned and shouted, "Oh, I wouldn't go in there right now if I were you."

The professor looked at him, his hand hovering over the doorknob. "And why not?"

"Well, she's in one of her 'poor overworked me' moods right now. If you were to go in there in the middle of a work day, she'd switch right into her 'why aren't you minding the shop, you useless lumps' mood."

Lord Blackadder and the professor looked at each other in confusion.

The boy came walking back to them.

"I say, why aren't you at work anyway? Is something up?"

The professor looked helpless.

"Um, well, erm-"

"No," Lord Blackadder said definitively. "Nothing is up."

The boy looked unconvinced.

"What would you say to walking with us back to our, um, shop?" asked the professor suddenly. "Then we could enjoy a nice little chat along the way."

The boy looked horrified.

"What, with you dressed up like that? No way, Dad. People might think we're related."

Baldrick looked offended. To his twentieth century eyes, the boy was dressed even worse than he was.

"Well, we'll walk a little ways behind you. No one need know," the professor suggested, somewhat desperately.

The boy shook his shaggy head.

"I'm not going to shake you off today, am I? All right, you can tag along if you like, but only so far as your shop. Then, I've got to get those pies for Mum or she'll murder me in my sleep."

He started off, then paused when the time travelers didn't follow quickly enough.

"Well, come on, then!"

They followed. The professor muttered under his breath, "What ever happened to respect for one's elders! He believes me to be his father, yet he talks to me in such a manner! Disgraceful, it really is. If I should see his father, I shall give him a piece of my mind, I truly shall. This young lad is too cheeky for his own good, that's what I say."

Lord Blackadder turned to him.

"Keep up, Uncle, we'll lose him in this crowd."

They were actually in a rather well-to-do neighborhood. Ladies in bulky costume-looking dresses walked with men in carefully styled white wigs and funny little hats with buckles. People crowded the street on both sides. There were a few open stalls at street corners which sold mostly flowers and fruit, and here and there a blind or crippled man sat jingling coins in a cup.

Lord Blackadder felt painfully out of place. The professor was staring around with wide, gaping eyes.

Just then, the boy stopped short.

"Well, this is where I leave you. I'll just-"

The boy stopped in mid-sentence and stood stock still with his mouth hanging open. Lord Blackadder turned his head to look where the boy was staring. Through the front window of a respectable little tobacconist's shop he could see a large nosed man in a white wig chatting amiably with a customer. The boy turned his stunned gaze towards the time travelers. It was a moment before he found his tongue.

"Follow me," he said darkly.

Uncertain what else to do, the time travelers followed. The boy led them into another alley. This one was considerably narrower than the one they had landed in. When they were all in, the boy turned on them.

"All right, you three, who are you really? Why do you two look like my father and uncle? Why do you look like the man who cleans the horse droppings off the street?" at this he pointed to Baldrick, "And, finally, what was that giant privy doing in the middle of the ally? And I won't stand for no lies neither! I'm an expert liar meself, and I can spot a whopper a mile away. So come clean now, or I'll be off to the police, I will!"

Lord Blackadder held up a hand.

"Calm down, you little urchin! Honestly, from the way you're carrying on, one might think we were trying to kidnap you or something! Relax, will you?"

The boy straightened.

"I will, only if you promise to tell me the truth."

The professor looked amused.

"If we tell you the truth, I fear you may still believe us liars."

Lord Blackadder sighed very deeply, then opened his eyes and turned his sharp, brown gaze on his young ancestor.

"OK. But, if we tell you the truth about ourselves, you must promise to answer a few questions truthfully for us in exchange, all right?"

Edmund nodded, spat on his hand, and held it out.

"Shake on it."

Lord Blackadder looked queasy. He turned to Baldrick.

"Baldrick, this kind of thing is your department. Go on and shake hands."

Baldrick nodded smartly, glad to finally be able to perform a useful service.

"Right, my lord."

Baldrick and the boy shook hands, then the whole group pulled up discarded crates and bales of half-rotten hay and sat down to talk.

"Now," said the professor, rubbing his hands together, "who goes first?"

"I will," said Lord Blackadder.

The boy leaned forward on his wooden crate and gave his distant descendent his full attention.

"We three are time travelers," Lord Blackadder said, hoping the boy wouldn't laugh himself off his crate and then leave them flat, without any information at all. Much to his surprise, his statement received a blank look.

"I don't quite follow," said the boy. "Do you mean you sell herbs and things?"

Now it was Lord Blackadder's turn to look blank. "What?"

"Well, you said you were Thyme Travelers. So, I supposed that meant you traveled from town to town selling things like thyme and basil and chamomile and so on."

Lord Blackadder still felt at a loss.

"What?"

The professor held up a hand.

"Eddie, let me. Remember, this boy lives in a time before H.G. Wells wrote his famous book. It's only natural he doesn't understand what you're talking about."

Lord Blackadder was only too willing to give up the floor to someone who seemed to know what was going on.

The professor leaned forward with a kind look.

"My nephew here doesn't mean that we sell herbs, my boy," he explained. "He means that we actually travel through time."

The boy was still confused.

"Yes, but doesn't everybody? I mean, we've traveled through time since we started this conversation, haven't we?"

The professor let out a short bark of laughter.

"Quite right, my lad, quite right! You're a very smart boy, you know that? But what I mean is that we can control how quickly we pass through time. We can move forward or backward to whatever point in history, or in the future, we care to visit. We do so in our time machine, which is that box you discovered us in outside your house."

During this explanation, the boy's eyes had widened to such an extent that it occurred to Baldrick to wonder if it was possible for a person's eyes to fall out of one's head. The boy was not so amazed, though, that he failed to catch a flaw in the professor's last sentence.

"That's absolutely astonishing, sir," he said, "but that wasn't my house you saw me at."

"Oh? Where was it?"

"That was Lady Fallinsbee's house. Me Mum works there as a cook, and sometimes as a maid when the regular maid is on holiday or shamming at being sick so as she can go out with her young man. We live in the two rooms behind Dad's shop, and the landlord lives in the flat above us."

"Oh," the professor nodded his understanding. "Well, anyway, as I was saying, we are time travelers from the future. We landed here by accident, but then decided to stay and see if we could find out some important information. You see, I am a professional historian and at present I am doing research for a book I am composing on the history of my family. Which is also, by the way, _your_ family. And, this is why we have sought your help. We would have asked your mother for the information we needed, but-"

He was cut off by a sudden, sharp exclamation from Edmund. At the mention of his mother, he had leapt to his feet as if his bottom had just been pinched by a ghost with particularly chilly fingers.

"Oh, crikey! Me mum! I've got to get those pies or else she'll see me hanged! Look, you chaps, stay put, right, and I'll be back in no time."

"Wait a minute," cried Lord Blackadder as the boy turned to run off, "how do we know you'll come back to keep up your end of the bargain?"

The boy drew himself up to his full height, clearly offended.

"I gave you my word! I spat and shook on it! Of course I'll come back!"

The professor silenced his nephew by squeezing his shoulder as he stood and faced the boy with a kind smile.

"Never fear, dear boy, we believe you. Run along now and get those pies for your poor, overworked mother. We'll still be here when you return."

The boy grinned. "Right!"

Lord Blackadder called out after his quickly departing back, "And don't you dare touch our time machine!"

But, his words came too late. The boy had gone.

* * *

Mrs. Miggins's pie shop was absolutely crammed with people. They were all waiting in line to buy buns, biscuits, pastries, and pies from the cheery old lady in the puffy, white cap and bright pink dress behind the counter. Edmund had to push to get the door open wide enough to squeeze through. Once he was in, he jumped up and down, trying to attract the attention of the young girl who was standing beside old Mrs. Miggins. The girl had so much powder and rouge on her face it was impossible to tell her age. She could have been anywhere from twelve to sixteen.

"Here! Maggie!" he shouted above the din of the crowd.

The girl looked up from where she was tying a bag of crumpets with string.

"Oh, hullo, Edmund!" she shouted back in a shrill, carrying voice. "Come back here behind the counter!"

Several people grumbled and growled as Edmund shoved his way towards the counter and hopped over it.

Maggie turned to him with a wide, affectionate smile.

"So, Edmund! What brings you here this busy afternoon?"

"Pies," he answered. "The lady of the house planned a dinner for tonight and neglected to let Mum know about it until just an hour ago."

Maggie looked sympathetic.

"Oh, the poor dear," she said.

"That's precisely how she feels. So, she's sent me out to pick up five steak pies and two strawberry pies from the finest pie shop in England. Naturally, I thought immediately of you. So, do you think I could just pick them up now? If it's not too much trouble, of course. I see you have quite a crowd gathered in here today."

Maggie ruffled his hair in precisely the way he hated.

"Don't you worry your little head about causing us trouble. If you run to the back, you'll find the steak pies piled on the left and the strawberry pies on the center table next to the little mixed-berry tarts. And, you can have all you require for half price!"

Edmund smiled politely.

"You are very kind, Maggie."

The girl waved the compliment off good naturedly.

"Oh, pish! Anything to assist the most considerate boy in London."

She ruffled his hair again, then sent him off to the back room where the pies were baked and stored. He waved a greeting to the busy pastry chefs, chose the nicest pies he could find, paid Maggie, and helped her place them safely in boxes.

Edmund shot her one last smile before he turned to squeeze his way back out through the crowd.

"Thanks Maggie. And, may I just say, I love your new haircut."

Maggie squealed in delight.

"Oh, you are such a dear! You noticed! You know, you're the only one who has so far."

"Well, everyone else was probably too taken with your lovely hat to pay your hair the proper attention."

"Oh, run along now, you!" she giggled.

Edmund did. He knew she had a little crush on him, and he used it to his best advantage. Personally, he wouldn't want to touch her with a ten foot pole, but it was always useful to be kind to a person who supplied one with meals at half price, however powdered, giggly, or shrill she might be. She was seeing Mrs. Miggins's son Harry anyway, and would likely marry him in order to gain the pie shop when old Mrs. Miggins retired, so he knew that his false compliments would never land him in danger from that quarter.

Balancing the pie boxes expertly in his arms, Edmund raced for home as quickly as his worn shoes would take him. Having reached the Fallinsbee kitchen, he dumped his load on a side table, waited patiently while his mother gave him a grateful peck on the cheek, took a moment to get a better look at the time machine, then raced off again towards the ally where he had left the time travelers. To his relief, they were still there, and seemed very pleased to see him. Particularly the older one in the funny brown suit. The bearded one looked bored, and the dirty one who resembled the man who cleaned up the streets after the horses wore a rather blank look of good natured patience.

"Well, here I am," he announced, striding over to them and reclaiming his abandoned crate. "Just like I promised. You see now that Edmund Blackadder is a man of his word."

Lord Blackadder gave him a strange look at that. The professor just smiled. Edmund continued.

"So, time travelers, what is it you need to know?"

The professor leaned forward, his face intense.

"Do you know how long your family has been living under its present circumstances?"

"I'm not sure what you mean."

Lord Blackadder had taken up a half-lounging position, leaning his back against the brick wall and stretching his polished shoes out in front of him. He spoke bluntly, without opening his eyes.

"He means, how long have you been poor?"

Edmund's glare was lost on him.

"We're not poor! Me father's got a respectable shop, and me mum's a well-paid cook. Not only that, but I've got a fine job as an errand boy at the palace! And, according to the head butler himself, I'm about to get a promotion! We may not be hoity-toity aristocrats like you, Lord Blackadder from somewhere in the fashion-blind future, but we're respectable nonetheless."

Lord Blackadder straightened and opened his eyes.

"Will you listen to him! Don't you know that your not so distant ancestor was a highly favored nobleman in the court of Queen Elizabeth I herself? You go by his very name."

The boy looked shaken.

"What?" he asked softly.

"Lord Edmund Blackadder, favored of the Queen, Shakespeare's only objective proofreader, brave explorer, and discoverer of the boomerang. Hasn't your father ever told you that you were of noble blood?"

The boy's face had gone pale and bloodless.

"No, he didn't," he said. He sounded vague and distant, as if the foundations upon which sat the structure of all he knew as warm and familiar had been cracked by a massive, world altering earthquake and then crumbled into fine powder, taking the structure with it. He looked up at them out of large, vulnerable eyes.

"Is this true?"

The professor nodded, too eager for information to note the effect of his nephew's words.

"Yes, indeed boy. And that's why we're here. We want to find out what happened to change our family's fortunes."

"Yep," said Lord Blackadder, leaning against the wall once again. "It took about four centuries to restore them to their previous luster. And even with all that, it was up to _me_ to do most of the work."

The boy leapt up from his crate, suddenly angry.

"Why didn't anyone ever tell me?" he exclaimed. "What could possibly have happened?! If you're telling the truth, that means the Fallinsbees should be waiting on _us_! It means I should be taking tea _with_ the Prince, not delivering his milk and hiring cabs for him! But, no! Instead I'm only a little errand boy, dressed in rags and worn out third-hand shoes with flapping soles that are two sizes too large!"

He plopped down again, too flustered to continue with his tirade.

"It's not fair," he observed in a quiet, hurt voice, shaking his shaggy head in a fragile, wide eyed, stunned manner.

Baldrick looked at the shattered boy sympathetically.

"It's not all that bad," he said. "Being poor, that is. We Baldricks have been poor for all of history, as far as I can tell, and we've done pretty well for ourselves."

The boy looked down on him over his nose with a repulsed glare that left no doubt in Baldrick's mind that he was a true Blackadder.

"You've done well for yourselves? Ha! I've heard the Baldricks are so poor they actually _eat_ the dung their father scrapes off the streets!"

Suddenly, his face crumpled and he dropped his head into his hands.

"Oh, God!" he moaned.

"What is it?" asked the professor.

"To think that I was actually _proud_ to be chosen as the head butler's apprentice!"

Lord Blackadder gave him the very look he'd just shot at Baldrick.

"You mean you have to _learn_ to become a butler?" He spat out 'butler' as if it had been dipped in somebody else's earwax.

The boy sat slumped on his crate, dejected.

"Yeah. They give you lessons in posture and diction and how to open doors quietly and how to reprimand the other servants subtly in front of the master and things. But the best part would have been that I would have been able to go to school. Me dad taught me me letters and me mum taught me some arithmetic, but even so I would have loved to go to school."

The professor looked confused.

"I thought your father owned a shop. Wouldn't he want you working there?"

The boy looked shocked.

"What, work in some gritty old shop when I could be living in the Palace of the King himself?"

Lord Blackadder turned his bored gaze to a beetle that was making its way up the wall next to him.

"As a servant," he muttered.

The boy seemed on the point of tears.

His uncle looked angry.

"Oh, do be quiet, Edmund. Can't you see what we've done? Through our ill-advised probing, we've shattered this poor boy's whole image of himself. I do hope the damage done to his psyche is not irreparable."

Lord Blackadder merely grunted and flicked the beetle off the wall. It landed on its back and struggled for the next three minutes to flip itself back onto its feet.

"I don't see why you're letting this bother you so much," he said. "I don't think anything will change. This boy surely won't pass up an opportunity to get a place in the palace, and at good wages too, I'll expect."

The boy nodded, brightening slightly.

"He'll be able to wear fine clothes and eat food fit for princes," Lord Blackadder went on. "I mean, he was happy enough the first time, wasn't he, Uncle?"

The professor nodded.

"Oh, yes. He served two kings, and from all accounts, he was very well respected about the town. He married the upstairs maid, if I'm not mistaken."

Lord Blackadder turned to the boy.

"There, you see? That doesn't sound so bad does it? You'll be happy enough as a butler."

The boy nodded good naturedly enough, but something had changed in his open, brown eyes. They seemed darker, colder somehow. More calculating.

"Yes, I suppose you're right," he said cheerily. "There's no way I could rise to the aristocracy with me present background anyway, is there? I mean, would anyone believe, or even care, that a guttersnipe like me is truly of noble blood?"

"No," said Lord Blackadder bluntly. "So, just give up on that idea and go on as you were before."

"I will. And at least I have the comfort of knowing that me family's standing will eventually be restored. Thank you all. This talk has been most enlightening."

"Well, not for us," the professor pointed out with a slight pout. "We still have no clue what happened."

The boy's eyes widened as an idea occurred to him.

"I might be able to find the information you require in the Palace library! I'll have access as the butler's apprentice, and my training starts tomorrow. This was my day off to inform me parents of me good fortune and to pack the last of me things so I can move into my new room at once. If you can stay for just one more day, I may be able to enlighten you as you have enlightened me."

Lord Blackadder shrugged.

"OK. But we needn't wait. I've had more than my fill of this fetid little slice of history."

He turned to his time traveling companions.

"Let's go back to the time machine. You can set it to hop forward one day, can't you, Balders?"

"Erm, I think so, my lord."

"Then it's settled. We'll see you tomorrow evening, then, at the palace gates."

"Very well," agreed Edmund. "I'll be there."

* * *

The next day was a busy one for Edmund. He woke very early in the narrow closet that served as his room. He smiled to himself as he folded the thin blankets he'd slept on for most of his life, thinking how pleasant it would be to have a real bed to sleep on this very night. He was still grinning as he walked out into the main room for his final breakfast at home. His parents were already sitting at the small, square table waiting for him.

"Here he is, our little Edmund, all grown up and leaving home," his mother said with a sigh of the deep, lamenting sort. She sniffled, wiping her eyes with her handkerchief.

"Well, hardly grown up," scoffed his father. He was possessed of a rather high pitched, whiny voice that complimented the shrill tones of his wife. "He's only twelve and a half for God's sake. But it is true he's leaving home."

He stood up and put an arm around his son's narrow shoulders.

"I'd like to say we'll miss you at the shop, Eddie, but we both know you've never even got in behind the counter. Once you're gone, it'll be as if you'd never been."

His mother stood and struck her husband's back sharply with her damp handkerchief.

"Oh, Richard," she reproached him. "We both know he's just not cut out to be a shopkeeper. It's no reason to pick on the poor boy just because you're jealous."

His father straightened.

"Jealous? Me? Of this young squint here?" He turned to his son. "Living in a palace is no fair exchange for your independence, my lad! I'd rather be master of my own house any day than run around after the foolish whims of our royal family. There's a long history of insanity in that family, I hear. You just wait and see, it'll manifest itself sooner or later. Then how will you feel, eh? Prancing about in fancy clothes as the head retainer of a glittering loony bin? Not only that, but they're not even true English loonies! They're German! The only reason they're even on the throne is because Parliament wanted the man in charge to be someone they could boss around without too much effort."

He sat back heavily in his chair, his tirade nearly at an end.

"Ah, yes. Give me my modest shop any day. I've got old Baldrick's eldest son to help me out anyway, I don't need you. And, best of all, I've got my independence."

His mother sat down beside him.

"You know, that's just how those colonists feel over in America. I hear they've even written up a declaration of sorts, saying so. And now they're fighting with us about it."

Edmund scooted his stool nearer to the table and speared a sausage.

"Well, that may be," he said, biting off the tip hungrily. "But at least I'll never have to worry about sucking up to the horrid old landlord upstairs because I haven't been able to pull in enough profits to pay the rent for three straight months and he's been threatening vocally for the last two weeks to chuck me out into the street."

He turned his new, dark look on his father.

"You must have been referring to some definition of the word 'independence' that I'm not familiar with just now, Father."

His father's eyes ignited into twin pools of liquid brown fire.

"Right, that does it! Out of my house, you snot-nosed little brat!"

Edmund stood with a smirk.

"Your house indeed! It belongs to the landlord. That's why he's called the landlord! That's also why you're supposed to pay him! For the privilege of inhabiting his house! And, if you can't do that, he has the right to throw you out and find somebody who can!"

His father leapt to his feet, unbuckling his belt as quickly as his fingers could move.

"Out! Now! Or, by thunder boy, I'll give you a thrashing to remember me by!"

Edmund had already reached the door and lifted his small bag of possessions.

"Oh, come on, Dad. You don't have to pull this tough-guy act with me. We all know it's just a cover for your true feelings of livid, green envy because I'm going to be actually living in a palace that you can only get into through buying a ticket for a group tour!"

His furious father let out a mighty roar and, forgetting about his belt, charged at his smug son with all the force of a rather lightweight raging bull. Edmund stood his ground, the shadow of a smile touching his thin lips. At the very last moment, he pushed open the door and stepped aside. Unable to fight his inertia, his father went hurtling forward into his tobacco shop. There was a terrific crash, followed by a cascade of tinkling smashes. After a short moment of silence, there came to their waiting ears a soft moan.

Edmund slung his bag over his shoulder and picked his way cautiously through the ruins of his father's shop. He looked down at him-eyes closed, cheap powdered wig askew, salt-and-pepper hair sticking up in all directions, blanketed with cigar boxes and pipe racks- and shook his head scornfully.

"And to think that we are of noble blood. Tcha! How the mighty have fallen, eh?"

He made his way to the outside door, then called back to his mother, who was standing with her handkerchief to her nose, too stunned to speak.

"Bye, Mother. Thank you for the lovely breakfast. Oh, and don't bother to write. At least, not until you learn how to spell. Farewell!"

With the resounding slam of the door behind him, Edmund knew there was no turning back. He was now taking the first steps that would lead to the rest of his life. He hoped that the road ahead was liberally strewn with good fortune and plenty of cold, hard cash.

* * *

Mrs. Dunston looked up from her newspaper when Edmund entered the palace kitchen, her pinched face with its thin, skeleton-like nose set in its usual expression of lofty disdain.

"'Morning, Mrs. Dunston," he said with a touch of a smile. "I'm here. So, where will I be sleeping, then?"

Mrs. Dunston set down her paper and rose with a rustle of long, purple skirts.

"So," she said, peering down at him from her narrow height, "it's you they've chosen as old Mr. Sowerby's apprentice. I must say, it's about time they made up their minds. Mr. Sowerby is certainly due for retirement, the poor old soul."

Edmund chuckled discretely behind his hand.

"He'll never see seventy again, that's for sure," he thought to himself. He knew better than to speak out with such things in Mrs. Dunston's stuffy presence.

"Right, then," she announced. "You'll be wanting to see your room. Follow me."

Edmund did. They didn't have very far to go. The apprentices' bedrooms were quite close to the kitchen. Mrs. Dunston led him to the third door on the right, took out a heavy ring of bulky keys from her skirt pocket, unlocked the door, shoved the heavy ring of bulky keys back into her skirt pocket, and strode inside. Edmund followed her in, close on her heels.

The room was small, drafty, and made of stone. There was one small, narrow window too far up the wall for him to see out of without climbing up on the rough, slightly crooked wooden table under it and standing on his tip-toes. But even this cold, tiny room was unimaginable luxury compared to the two foot by four foot closet he had been crammed into for most of his life. One thing puzzled him, however.

"Um, Mrs. Dunston?" he queried politely.

"Yes, Edmund?" she responded crisply.

"I don't mean to sound rude or ignorant or anything, but I couldn't help but wonder..."

"Yes? Stop beating about the bush and come out with it."

"Why are there two beds, ma'am?"

Mrs. Dunston's stiff, pinched face came as close as Edmund had ever seen it get to showing a hint of amusement.

"Why, it's for your roommate, of course."

Edmund looked blankly apprehensive.

"Didn't you know you would be sharing your room?" she asked lightly. "All apprentices under the age of fifteen share rooms. Sometimes we manage to fit as many as seven or eight in a room like this. Be grateful you've only got to share it with one."

"Oh, I wasn't complaining, ma'am," said Edmund hastily. "I was just wondering the name of the boy I am so fortunate to be sharing my sleeping quarters with."

The amusement lurking among the wrinkles of Mrs. Dunston's mature (to put it politely) features was unmistakable now. Edmund felt worried.

"He's called Baldrick," she said.

Edmund felt as if a four pound brick had just impacted with his stomach after being lobbed at him by the burly man who wrestled bears at the annual pet show.

Mrs. Dunston went on, seemingly unaware of the effect her words were having on the boy.

"He's part of a large family, I'm given to understand," she said. "I hear they ran out of imagination when it came to first names by the time they got to him, and so neglected to give him one. I've never heard him called by one, anyway. Even his own mother calls him Baldrick when she comes to visit."

Edmund's face must have shown his dismay because Mrs. Dunston's dull, gray eyes brightened noticeably.

"Oh, so you know of him?" she asked.

Edmund backed slowly towards the door, trying (but failing) not to let the desperation he felt come out in his voice.

"Please, ma'am, don't you think I could have another roommate?" he practically pleaded. He would have fallen to his knees, but he felt that would too undignified for a head butler in training.

Mrs. Dunston actually laughed. It was not a pleasant sound.

"That's just what everyone else says. He's always pawned off on the newbees. And, at this particular point in time, that's you. When you've been here long enough to gain some seniority among the other apprentices, you might be lucky enough to find some other unsuspecting young kid to pawn him off on. That is, if you haven't reached fifteen by then."

Edmund could feel himself droop.

Mrs. Dunston cackled once more, then said, "Well, I'll leave you to unpack. Your first elocution lesson starts in one hour. I wouldn't be late if I were you."

"Why's that?" asked Edmund limply.

"Because I shall be your tutor."

Edmund managed a weak smile.

"Sounds marvelous. Wouldn't miss it."

"Not if you want your dinner, you won't. I'll see you in an hour, then, in the library."

Edmund straightened.

"Yes, ma'am."

And with a glance and a rustle, she was gone.

Alone at last, Edmund ran his fingers through his hair and scrubbed at his scalp in agitation. This job wasn't turning out to be quite the breeze he had imagined it would be. Well, at least he'd have an excuse to get to the library. Perhaps, if he played his cards right, he would be able to find the information the time travelers wanted during-or even after if no one was watching-his speech lesson, sneak away after dinner, and convince them to take him away with them. Then he wouldn't have to worry about what it would be like to spend the next two and a half years of his life sharing his room with a Baldrick. He shuddered at the very thought.

Just then, his thoughts were interrupted by a sharp cough. He looked up with a start. There, standing in the doorway, was the most revolting little creature he had ever set eyes on. It was bipedal, apparently, and it seemed to be draped in the greasy castoffs of an elderly pig farmer that had been washed in latrine water. It's hair-probably brown, but it was hard to tell through all the grime-was shoulder-length and hung round its ears in greasy clumps. Its features were difficult to see because of all the dirt and spots that covered them. The thing seemed to be smiling.

"Hullo," it said, holding out a filthy five-fingered hand, which included an opposable thumb. "My name's Baldrick."

Edmund felt queasy. A weird, unholy smell seemed to have followed the little creature into the room.

"Yes, I know," he snapped. "Sod off, Baldrick."

The thing's grin widened.

"That's right!" he said coming nearer. "And you must be Edmund, me new roomy."

Edmund shook his head, confused. How thick was this filthy animal, anyway?

"That's _Master_ Blackadder to you. Anyway, I thought I told you to get lost."

The thing seemed confused.

"You did?"

Edmund raised his eyes to the ceiling.

"Oh, God!" he groaned. He stood and strode over to hold the door open for the creature. "Yes, I did. Now, get out."

The creature stood its ground. It was several inches shorter than Edmund, though its age was indeterminate.

"You can't throw me out," it stated bluntly. "This room's mine too, you know."

"No," Edmund contradicted him, even more bluntly. "As of right now, this room is mine. I may be so kind as to allow you to use the other bed once in a while, but only if you bathe first. Otherwise, I'm afraid you'll be sleeping in the corridor."

"Oh," said the thing. "I wasn't aware that that was the arrangement."

"Well, it is. So, get out. And don't come back until you've scrubbed away enough dirt from your face and hair to prove to me that you're human and not some filthy monkey someone's dressed up in the half-desiccated bladder of a diseased sheep."

"All right, Master Blackadder," Baldrick replied. "You don't have to get so uppity about it."

"And don't you take that tone with me, Baldrick. I'm going to be head butler here one day, while you'll only be-," he broke off, realizing he had no idea what Baldrick's function at the palace was. "What _do_ you do here, Baldrick?"

"Oh, I'm a go-fer in training, Master Blackadder."

"You're a what?"

"Well, I'm in training, see, to become a servant's assistant, as it were. I fetch things and set up trays to be carried away by others for the King's tea and things like that."

Edmund nodded.

"Oh. So you're learning how to be a servant to a servant."

Baldrick grinned.

"Yeah, that's it."

He leaned in closer than Edmund felt it was quite hygienic to be to him.

"Maybe, one day, we'll end up working together, Master Blackadder," he said with a confidential grin. His crooked teeth were coated in a thick, yellow film.

Suddenly, the realization struck Edmund that the peculiar odor he had been gagging on all through the conversation above was emanating from this foul Baldrick's baggy trousers. They seemed to have been originally made for, and worn by, someone at least twice his height. Edmund felt sick.

"Heaven forbid," he said shortly and quite seriously. "Now, scat!"

"Yes, Master Blackadder."

Baldrick bobbed his filthy head, then scampered off down the corridor, thankfully taking the majority of his stench with him

Edmund closed the door and collapsed onto the nearest bed. This was going to be a long day.

* * *

It was just past noon. The elocution lesson was over and, much to Mrs. Dunston's disappointment, Edmund had performed quite well. It also turned out that he had a naturally good posture. He could walk across the entire library while balancing a total of three thick, leather-bound books on his head.

Directly after his lesson ended, he had been taken down the street to the royal tailor to be measured for a new suit that was fitting for a head butler's apprentice to be seen in, then dragged to the royal wig-maker's shop to get a fine, powdered wig. It was much more realistic than the stiff towel of a wig his father wore. He wore it with smug pride, and everyone at the shop commented on how much older and more dignified it made him look. Finally, he was taken to the royal shoe-maker's to be fitted for a pair of fine black shoes with real brass buckles. When the shopkeepers were done with him, he was the very image of a miniature butler.

"But, not forever," he promised his reflection as he admired his new black coat in the mirror. "One day, when I'm very rich, I'll buy myself a manor and a few villages in the country. Then, I'll bribe someone to get me into the House of Lords. I'll be a nobleman yet! That'll show that stuck-up Lord Blackadder, with his stupid beard and his funny trousers. I'll give him something to choke on while he's reading his history books. Ha!"

For now, though, he stood in the library, looking through the rows upon rows upon rows of stuffed, dusty shelves, searching for anything that seemed likely to have some kind of reference to his ancestors in it. His stomach rumbled, but he ignored it. It was worth skipping his lunch to get a chance to ride around in a time machine. He had to be quick, though. He was scheduled to tag along after Mr. Sowerby while he went about his business that afternoon, starting at one o'clock sharp and ending after supper. And, once again, the threat of 'you'll have no dinner if you're late' was hanging over his head. This time, though, it held a sting because he was missing his lunch now.

So, he breezed through the shelves, passing vast sections on the proper uses of herbs, the many varied types of vegetables, safe and unsafe mushrooms, how to make wine, beer, mead, brandy wine, and several other alcoholic beverages, cookbooks, books on religion, more books on religion, more books about herbs, more books on religion, and a small section devoted to Ancient Greek and Roman mythology as translated by a group of elderly monks without spectacles who had modified and/or skipped all the juicy parts. Edmund sighed. The type of book he wanted must be on the second level.

He was halfway up the narrow, rickety ladder which led to the balcony sort of thing which made up the second level when a loud, "Tally ho, there, what!" startled him so badly he nearly lost his grip. Cautiously, he turned his head to see who it was that had shattered the silence of the empty library.

A tall boy of about sixteen, or perhaps seventeen, had just come striding in. He had a narrow face and round, goggly eyes. Edmund knew at once that it was Prince George himself.

"What ho, up there!" the prince shouted at what must have been very near the top of his voice. "What are you up to?"

Still nervous about falling, Edmund decided the best thing to do would be to climb down, have a brief conversation with the prince, then climb back up again once he'd gone. From all he'd heard, the prince didn't have much use for libraries. Once he'd reached the floor, he turned to him with a perfectly executed bow.

"Oh, hullo, your highness," he said politely in an accent with which his diction teacher could have found no flaw, no matter how hard she tried. "I was just looking for a book."

To his dismay, the prince looked interested. "

Oh, really? Which one?"

Edmund cleared his throat, wondering how he could get rid of the prince without seeming to insult him.

"I'm not quite sure, actually," he replied.

"Oh, that's too bad," the prince sympathized. "I'm here for a book myself, to tell you the truth."

Edmund tried hard to keep in his surprise, and disappointment.

"Oh, yes, your highness?"

The prince nodded.

"Yes. I found it last week when I was in here hiding from my geography tutor. This is the one place they never think to look for me."

Edmund wasn't quite sure how to reply to that. Well, actually several really good replies came to mind, but he felt it would be prudent not to give them voice. Instead, he straightened his already straight posture and kept his mouth shut as he watched the prince look around the shelves.

"I know it's around here somewhere," the prince said from an awkward, half-crouching position. He tilted his head sideways as he read through the titles.

Edmund let out a polite cough.

The prince straightened and looked up.

"Perhaps I could help, your highness," he offered.

The prince rubbed his hands together.

"Oh, jolly good. How?"

"Do you remember which subject the book was about, sir?"

The prince screwed up his brow, trying to remember. It looked like it was painful for him.

"If I recall correctly," he said, "it had something to do with a girl." He leaned in close to Edmund's ear and whispered loudly, "It was quite a naughty book actually, if you know what I mean."

Edmund nodded discretely.

"I understand, sir. Can you remember whereabouts you were hiding on that particular day, your highness?"

The prince spun slowly around, then spun around again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And once more. Then, he came to a stop and brought a hand to his head.

"Wooph, I'm dizzy!" he announced.

Edmund tried not to roll his eyes.

"Any luck, sir?" he asked.

The prince looked blank.

"With what?"

Edmund struggled to keep his voice level and emotionless.

"With remembering where you were hiding when you found that naughty book, sir."

The prince looked enlightened.

"Oh, right! It had completely slipped my mind."

This time Edmund couldn't stop his eyes from rolling. He covered it by closing them with a brief sigh. He'd heard the prince was as thick as nine day old porridge that had been mixed with white glue instead of milk, but until this moment he hadn't quite believed it.

"Well, did you remember, sir?"

The prince grinned.

"Why yes, actually!" He sounded surprised. "I was over here, behind the back shelf. Come with me, I'll show you."

Reluctantly, Edmund followed the prince to the back shelf. Once there, the prince got down on his hands and knees and crawled the length of the bottom row. The book he was after was rather old and wrinkly and yellow. On its cracked, leather cover, in big, gold letters, was printed the word: _Diary_. Underneath that, in a firm, neat hand, was written the following inscription: _Do not open upon penalty of a fate far worse than a fate worse than death. And, you know I'll deliver too, so watch out_ _!_

"Is that the one, sir?" Edmund asked dryly.

"Yes, indeed-a-roonie!" exclaimed the prince happily. He stood and brushed the dust from his hose. "My, but you're a smartie," he announced. "What's your handle?"

Edmund straightened.

"Blackadder, sir. Edmund Blackadder."

The prince tucked the aged book under his arm and stretched out a hand. Edmund took it.

"Splendid to meet you, Blackadder, me lad. Are you the new librarian?"

"No, sir," Edmund said stiffly. "I am the head butler's new apprentice."

The prince nodded.

"Oh! Right! You do seem a bit young to be a librarian, don't you."

"Quite, sir," Edmund replied politely.

The prince took a step back and looked him up and down.

"You know," he said at last, "I think I like you, Blackadder. You've got brains, and I need someone with brains around me. It's so tiresome being surrounded by morons all day. They all act as if I'm some kind of a thickie! My geography tutor, for example."

He wrinkled his brow thoughtfully for a moment.

Edmund waited patiently on the outside, but on the inside he felt as desperate as a man who knows quite well that his hot date will only wait for him so long before latching herself onto some other bloke, but is held up from leaving his home by an unexpected visit from his parents. Like that man, Edmund could actually feel the seconds pressing past him, as if they were actual, physical objects about the same size and texture of speeding slugs. The only external evidence of his emotional state, however, was a slight twitching of the first finger of his left hand.

"I have it!" the prince exclaimed at last. "How's about I ask my father if you can work for me? That way, you won't have to be an apprentice anymore-you can become a butler right away. Father said I could have one of my own for my birthday anyway, and it would sure be splendid to have someone nearer to my own age to order about. I'm fed up with that old fart, Sowerby." He looked hopefully at Edmund. "Well?" he asked. "What do you say?"

In a flash, the suffocating, slug-like seconds vaporized, leaving him room to breathe. Edmund didn't even have to think about it. This sudden offer was better than anything he could have hoped for. He would become butler to the prince on his very first day as an apprentice. It had to be unprecedented. He would no longer be at the mercy of Mrs. Dunston, he would never have to trail after old Sowerby as he shook his palsied way through tea, and he'd never have to endure another diction class for as long as he lived. This bit of good fortune also meant he'd never have to look at that greaseball, Baldrick again, much less share a room with him, because the prince's servants lived in their own quarters in his personal wing of the palace.

"Your highness," he said, drawing himself up, "I accept."

"Oh, hurrah!" the prince exclaimed joyously. "So, now that you're my butler and have to do whatever I say, I say let's look through this naughty book together, what?"

"Very well, your highness. Shall I find us some chairs?"

The prince looked surprised at the question.

"Oh, good thought, Blackadder. Go right ahead."

Edmund gave a short bow, then strode off to the vacant librarian's desk, lifted two chairs without any visible effort (but with plenty of internal straining of the muscles) and set them side by side next to where the prince was standing with his yellowed book.

"Splendid!" the prince exclaimed as he sat himself down. "Now I don't have to worry about getting my bum dusty. You really are bright, aren't you, Blackadder?"

Edmund held in a sigh.

"One tries, sir."

The prince nodded.

"One does indeed. Keep it up, keep it up!"

He opened the book to the title page. Edmund glanced at it without really looking. Even though he no longer had to worry about being late for Mr. Sowerby, he did very much want to get on with his search for his family's history.

"I say, look at this!" the prince exclaimed. He rarely said anything when he could exclaim it instead. "What was it you said your first name was, Blackadder?"

"Edmund, sir."

"Well, crikey! The bloke who wrote this dirty diary had the same name as you! What an odd coincidence!"

Edmund was so startled he nearly fell out of his chair.

"W-what was that, sir?"

The prince held out the book, pointing to the name on the title page under the words: This book belongs to. . . The name, written in the same bold handwriting as the warning on the cover, was _Lord Edmund BlackAdder_ _._ It was a moment before Edmund could find his tongue. It seemed to have gotten lost somewhere between his tonsils and his teeth.

Prince George looked at him with concern.

"I say, Blackadder, are you quite all right?"

Edmund started out of his shock, then nodded.

"Yes, of course, sir. It's just that..."

"Yes? It's just that what?"

Edmund struggled to get the words out.

"That man, that Lord Edmund BlackAdder, he was my ancestor."

The prince looked stunned.

"Well, by Jove! That really is something else. Did you know your ancestor wrote dirty books, Blackadder?"

Edmund struggled to regain control of himself.

"No, sir."

The prince shrugged.

"Well, who knows. Maybe it runs in the family. Do you think you could write me a dirty book, Blackadder, if I ordered you to?"

"I suppose that anything's possible, sir," he responded, trying his best not to look surprised at the suggestion. Just then, a brilliant thought came to him on how he could best manipulate this situation to his advantage. His eyes took on that dark, calculating look he had so recently adopted. He straightened in his chair, in full control once more. "That is, sir," he continued, "I could certainly write one for you, if I had the proper material to draw from."

"Oh? What kind of material?"

Edmund pretended to think it over.

"Well, someone's naughty diary for example."

The prince's face lit up.

"Well, isn't that lucky? We've got one here!"

Edmund did a reasonably good impression of one who is pleasantly surprised.

"Why, so we do! You don't think I could borrow it for a time, sir? Just so I can get to grips with the proper style?"

The prince grinned broadly.

"Why, of course, Blackadder! That's a splendid idea! Here, take it. Keep it by your side for as long as you require. Get those creative juices flowing, what?"

Edmund could not quite suppress a sly grin as the prince pressed the book into his hands.

"Indeed, sir," he said politely.

The prince stood suddenly and stretched. Edmund stood as well, as a proper servant should in the presence of his master.

"Well, Blackadder," the prince said, "you go and dig into those pages. I'll go to my father and get your situation all straightened out. From now on, Blackadder," the prince grinned, resting a hand on his shoulder, "we are going to be the best of friends, what!"

Edmund smiled politely back.

"Yes, indeed, your highness."

"Good. Right. Then, I'll be off. See you at tea, Blackadder. Oh, and I like mine with lots of milk and sugar, all right? And I really like those biscuits with the jelly in the center, if you could bring me a few of those as well. And I despise cucumbers, though Sowerby insists on bringing them every day, so please bring up sardines on buttered toast instead. Have you got all that?"

"Yes, sir," Edmund nodded. "At teatime I am to bring you tea with plenty of milk and sugar, biscuits with jelly in the middle, and sardines on buttered toast."

The prince looked astonished.

"Wow! I'm impressed, Blackadder! You could remember all that, all in one go! Why, I've already forgotten half of it! You are indeed a wonder. I know I've made the right choice."

Edmund inclined his head.

"Thank you, sir."

"See you at tea, Blackadder."

"At tea, your highness."

And with that, the prince was gone.

Left on his own once more, Edmund looked thoughtfully at the elderly book in his hands. If the air-headed prince proved that easy to manipulate all the time, Edmund thought, he'd probably reconsider wanting to join the time travelers on their expedition. But, he knew he still had to keep up his end of the bargain once evening came. He decided to return to his room and spend the hours before tea-time poking into the private life of his noble ancestor. He replaced the chairs he and the prince had used behind the librarian's desk, then strode off down the corridor towards the apprentices' quarters.

When he reached his room, he was startled to find a strange boy lounging on one of the beds. His face was a bit spotty, but not too unpleasant a view. His brown hair was pulled back with a black ribbon. His wrinkly clothes were splotched with many ancient stains and they looked at least twenty sizes too large for him, but they seemed tidy enough. The room smelled of good quality homemade soap and some faint, peculiar, indefinable, musky odor. He was throwing a small object made of paper into the air. Edmund watched in wonder as the object flew in a circle and landed right back in the boy's clean hand.

"Hullo," said Edmund pleasantly as he placed his book carefully on his bed. "My name's Edmund Blackadder."

The boy sat up with an affable grin.

"Oh, hullo, Master B. You look smart in those new clothes of yours. I never would have recognized you."

Edmund was flattered.

"Why, thank you," he smiled back. "If you don't mind my asking, what in the world is that thing you've got?"

"What, this?" asked the boy holding the paper object between his finger and his thumb. "It's a paper doohickey. I was bored waiting for you, so I folded it. It flies in a circle when you throw it."

"Yes, I noticed that. How did you make it?"

"I told you," said the boy. "I folded it." The boy leaned back against the wall. "I was thinking that maybe, someday, men would like to fly around in these themselves. Great big ones, I mean, not dinky ones like this. They'd be able to fly through the clouds like birds. Wouldn't that be lovely?"

"Oh, I don't know," Edmund replied, sitting down himself. "I don't think I'd quite fancy being a bird. I like to be able to feel solid ground beneath my feet, if you know what I mean."

The boy shrugged.

"Well, it doesn't matter anyway. Me mum always says, if the big pink pixie in the sky wanted us to fly, she would have given us wings what to do that flying with."

Edmund gave him a look.

"Sounds like a strange woman, your mother." He leaned forward, trying to place the boy and failing. "Who are you?" he asked at last.

The boy looked surprised.

"What, don't you know me neither? I'm Baldrick!" He looked hurt and more than a little sulky. "You knew me before."

Edmund was positively stunned.

"What, you mean that _you're_ Baldrick? That filthy, spotty, little creature that smelled like something a cow left in the pasture for the farmer to step in?"

The boy nodded, sullenly.

"Yes."

Edmund stared at him in wonder.

"Astonishing! There really was a human boy under all that grime, wasn't there? And, it looks like you've even washed your clothes, at least to some extent! Tell me, Baldrick, what made you change your filthy ways?"

Baldrick looked confused.

"Well, you did, Master Blackadder."

"I did?" Edmund asked, surprised. "What did I do?"

Baldrick was looking desperately confused now.

"Well, you told me that unless I had a wash you wouldn't let me sleep in my bed tonight, and I'm really quite fond of my bed, so I took a bath and now no one I know recognizes me! Not Mrs. Dunston, not Freddie the horse, not you, not even the prince!"

"What, you've seen the prince today?"

"Oh, yeah. We met in the corridor while I was headed here. He was just coming out of the library. He said he'd just gotten a new butler and would I like to be his butler's servant. So, I said yes. But I know he didn't recognize me because usually when he sees me he pats me on the head and says 'there's a good doggie'."

Edmund was still stunned.

"You mean that you are going to be my servant?"

"No," said Baldrick. "I'm going to be Prince George's new butler's servant."

"Yes, but that's me! I'm Prince George's new butler!"

Baldrick's face broke into a huge grin.

"But that's wonderful, Master Blackadder! Didn't I tell you that one day we'd end up working together?"

Edmund just shook his head, figuring that when so many unexpected, shocking things happen to one all at once, it is best not to question fate, but to simply go with the flow.

"So you did, Baldrick. So you did. Who would have guessed that your prophesy would have come true so quickly?"

"Well, certainly not me, Master Blackadder."

Edmund nodded.

"Nor I."

They sat for a moment in silence. After a short time, it seemed to Edmund that the conversation was over, so he stretched out on his bed and opened his ancestor's diary. He had barely gotten through the first sentence, though, when Baldrick spoke up again.

"Um, Master Blackadder, sir, I've been thinking."

Edmund looked up.

"Oh yes? What about?"

Baldrick looked uncomfortable.

"Well, sir, I was thinking that I don't really like being clean."

Edmund did a double take.

"What?"

"Well, I mean, I don't really like the way that everyone treats me when I'm clean."

"You mean, as if you were a human being rather than the deformed product of an unholy union between two closely related members of some bizarre species of monkey?"

Baldrick nodded, brightening.

"Yeah, that's it! You've gone and put your finger right on it, Master B. So, I was thinking that, if you don't mind too much, I wouldn't like to ever take a bath again."

Edmund looked apprehensive.

"Well, since we're going to have to work together, couldn't we come to some sort of compromise on this point?"

Baldrick looked curious.

"What sort of compromise?"

"Well, how about you take a bath, say, once a month. That's pretty reasonable, isn't it? I mean, the rest of us usually have a wash about once a week."

Baldrick looked uncomfortable.

"Well, I don't know. I don't know if a month is long enough to build up the level of grime I'm used to."

"Then how about once every two months?"

Baldrick still looked uncomfortable.

"How about once a year?"

"Twice a year. But you have to wash your entire head and neck and both your hands for every holiday and special occasion. And I get to decide what constitutes a special occasion."

"Deal."

They both sighed.

"Well, there's a relief," said Baldrick. "I was starting to be afraid you'd make me stay clean like this for the rest of my life!"

Edmund just looked at him. How could one possibly respond to a statement like that?

* * *

"Well, Blackadder" said the prince, leaning back in his chair in his private lounge and sipping his sweet, milky tea from his white china cup, "everything's all settled. Father's agreed that you should be my personal butler and that Baldrick, here, should be your servant. And thanks for this lovely tea, by the way. It's positively scrummy!"

Edmund gave a slight bow.

"Just doing my duty, sir."

The prince grinned through a mouthful of toast and sardine.

"Yes, indeed you are, and keep up the good work! You'll soon come to know my tastes, Blackadder. I'm a very simple prince, really."

"Yes, your highness."

"To get along with, that is," he continued as an afterthought. "Oh," the prince added with a slight start, "before I forget, you two are to move into your new rooms in this wing of the palace at once. It seems Mrs. Dunston has already found two young apprentices to take your places. So, you've both got the rest of the evening off- that is after you've finished clearing my tea and getting me dressed for dinner of course-in order to facilitate your move."

"Of course, your highness," said Edmund politely. "And thank you."

"Oh, don't thank me, thank Mrs. Dunston!" the prince exclaimed through a mouthful of jam-centered biscuit. "She's the one who's insisting."

"Very good, sir."

Very good indeed, Edmund thought as he watched the prince scarf down his tea. Moving into his new room, his own room, the room he would have all to himself, the room completely free of Baldricks, clean or otherwise, would only be a matter of walking to his previous one, picking up his book and bag, and walking to his new one. He had never gotten the chance to unpack that morning. Therefore, he would have the rest of the evening to himself-which was absolutely perfect. He could now go to the palace gates to meet with the time travelers without making up any excuses at all.

He suppressed a leap of joy by leaning forward to check if the prince's cup needed refilling. It did.

"More tea, sir?" he asked, holding up the little white teapot.

"Umm, yes, please," answered the prince.

* * *

The sun had just started to set as Edmund reached the palace gates. He hoped the time travelers would recognize him in his new get-up. He had to admit that he looked quite different in his new finery than he had in the old, worn-out rags that he had once called clothing. And, with his newly mastered posh accent and his instructions to his mother never to write him, it would be easy for him to leave the truth of his humble beginnings far behind him. If he was really lucky, his father would have disowned him by now. That would make it much easier when the time came for him to become a nobleman. His parents wouldn't be able to pop up from under the woodwork and embarrass him. Judging from the almost pathetic pliability of the prince, Edmund had the feeling that he'd be master of his own castle before he was thirty. That was _his_ idea of independence.

Edmund spent the next few hours reading through his ancestor's diary. He had to admit, it was quite a gripping read. He could see how it had managed to hold the prince's attention. His ancestor had been a shameless cad and he wrote of his exploits in a blunt, matter-of-fact manner.

Evening passed into night. Edmund shivered in the flickering firelight of the lampposts that lit the gateway and pulled his new black cloak up tightly around himself. He was starting to get nervous. The time travelers should surely have been there hours ago. He decided he would give them two more hours, then he would go inside to enjoy his new bed. They'd probably made some kind of miscalculation when plotting the date. Perhaps they'd appear the next night, or a week from now. With that Baldrick of theirs at the controls, they could be anywhen. He could wait.

Well, the years went by. Edmund attended the prince, and Baldrick attended Edmund. Lord Blackadder's diary remained perched on the shelf above Edmund's bed, where it soon became worn with constant use. Once he'd earned enough money, he had it copied in print so he could preserve the original, for he never forgot its significance. The fate of this diary, however, was quite unlike the fate of Edmund's memory of his strange meeting with the time travelers. Slowly it faded, until nothing remained of it but a slight, betrayed feeling accompanied by the wisp of a childish fancy, or the flittering flashes of a dream…

* * *

 _Until next time! :)_


	4. Chapter 3

**#3: 1917 A.D. A Wrong Turn**

 **involving:**

 **an unwelcome shock; a great deal of shouting, explaining, and more explaining; and yet another shock**

The time machine came to rest with its customary rattling thump. Its rapidly blinking interior lights slowed to a regular pulse. Lord Blackadder got up from his toilet seat and took hold of the rope that opened the door.

"Well," he said with a slightly apprehensive look. "Here goes."

The three time travelers held their breath as Lord Blackadder lowered the door and peered out.

There was nothing to see. Beyond the door was utter blackness.

Lord Blackadder turned back to his companions in confusion.

"If it's night, shouldn't there at least be some stars or something out there?" he whispered. The darkness was so silent, whispers seemed appropriate. "I mean, even during a storm, I've never seen the sky this dark."

Baldrick came forward and stuck his head out of the door.

"It's not too dark for indoors, my lord," he said reasonably. He sniffed. "I can smell dirt. I think we're in some kind of hole."

Lord Blackadder felt a sudden wave of trepidation wash over him.

"What kind of hole?" he asked. "An empty hole? A tiger pit? The interior of a cave? The home of a savage grizzly bear?"

The professor spoke up.

"Do calm down, Edmund. Let's take this one step at a time. Do either of you happen to have an electric torch?"

Lord Blackadder turned to Baldrick.

"Well, Balders? You're the one who did the packing for this camping trip. Do we have a torch, as my uncle asked?"

Baldrick looked thoughtful.

"Well, I don't rightly remember, my lord. I'll just check the bag, shall I?"

"Bag? What bag?"

"The bag of things I collected from the basement while you were out showing your friends all the stuff we got on our first journey through time the second time round."

The professor looked confused, but Baldrick's unorthodox sentence seemed to make sense to his nephew, so he made no comment. Time travel made for awkward sentences. They came with the territory.

"What?" Lord Blackadder exclaimed. "Why did you do that?"

"Well, because I thought that you might be wanting to use the time machine again, my lord. I mean, why sit around at home when you've got a working time machine in your downstairs den?"

Lord Blackadder sighed.

"I must admit it wasn't too bad a thought. Especially considering that the result of your completely unprecedented flash of forethought just might come in handy in our present situation. So, what did you pack?"

Baldrick bent over and slid a small, lumpy sack out from the shadows behind the control panel. The professor looked at it hopefully. Baldrick set it down heavily on the narrow bits of wood between the two toilet seats and pulled open the drawstrings. Reaching an arm inside, he pulled out a dented, yellow construction worker's hat.

Rather expecting something like this, Lord Blackadder showed no surprise or confusion when he asked, "Right, Baldrick. And what's that for?"

"Well, my lord, I was thinking that just in case we happened to end up in the middle of a rocky landslide somewhen, this here hat just might come in handy."

"Even though it's got a dent in it roughly the size and shape of the Grand Canyon?"

Baldrick turned the canyon-shaped hat over in his hands, inspecting the massive dent carefully.

"Oh, I hadn't noticed that before."

"Ah ha. And what else have we got?"

Baldrick reached back inside and felt around. Then, with a slight grunt of effort, he pulled out...

"A stick," Lord Blackadder observed.

"That's right, my lord."

"And, pray, of what use could a fine, fat stick be to us at this time? Or, indeed, at any time?"

Baldrick's rough, though guileless, face took on a cunning look.

"Well, my lord, I was thinking that if we ever met up with another one of those Tyranny Saurous Rexes, we could cram this in its mouth and it would become helpless."

Lord Blackadder did not look impressed. "I see."

"It would also be quite good with giant sharks."

Lord Blackadder was rapidly losing patience.

"Yes, all right! Now, have you got anything that we can actually use in that sack of yours, Baldrick, or is this just some pathetic attempt to keep me from noticing that you've fouled up the dates again and landed us somewhere before the dawn of time?"

Baldrick looked shocked.

"Oh, no, my lord! I'm sure I've got something useful in here."

He reached back inside, feeling around with a look of intense concentration. He even stuck out his tongue a little. The two Blackadders waited as the objects in the bag clacked and tinkled and thumped against each other.

Finally, Baldrick's arm emerged triumphant, a thin, black cylindrical object clutched in its filthy fingers. Baldrick grinned.

"Here we are, my lord! A pocket torch, just the exact same shape as a pen. And look," he said, pointing it out, "it's even got a little plastic clip so it won't fall out of your pocket when you lean over."

Lord Blackadder tried to look patient.

"Lovely, Baldrick. But, does it work?"

Baldrick looked as if that thought had not occurred to him.

"I'm not sure, my lord. I'll just turn it on and see."

"Yes, you do that."

Baldrick pressed the tiny, soft indentation that served as the miniature flashlight's on switch with his thumb. To his utter delight, a tiny pinprick of white light appeared at one end.

"It works, my lord!" he stated as proudly as if he had been solely responsible for the concept, design, and construction of the device.

Lord Blackadder rolled his eyes.

"Oh, marvelous" he said, his voice positively soaked through with sarcasm, "We ought to be able to see for inches ahead with that light."

Baldrick grinned. Sarcasm always seemed to go over his head. Lord Blackadder strode over to him and snatched the torch.

"Give that to me, you grinning idiot. Now, let's see what's out there."

He stepped cautiously out of the time machine, the others following close at his heels. They stood in something of a huddle for a moment while they waited for their eyes to adjust to the dim light that emanated from the time machine's interior. Then, Lord Blackadder strode boldly forward, holding his pen light out in front of him as if it could somehow defend him from whatever lurked out there in the dark.

"Ooph!" grunted the professor from behind him. "Errrch!"

Lord Blackadder spun around, heart pounding.

"What?" he blurted. He cleared his throat and said, more calmly, "What is it, Uncle?"

His uncle was rubbing his shin and wincing.

"I seem to have bumped my leg against a table. But I'm all right."

Lord Blackadder's brow wrinkled.

"A table? So, we're not in a hole after all. We're in some kind of room."

Just then, there was a loud squeaking sound. Baldrick screamed.

"My lord!" he yelped. "There's rats in here! Big, black, rats with long, pointy teeth and horrible, nasty, wormy tails!"

Lord Blackadder shuddered. He hated rats.

"Did you see them?" he asked anxiously.

"No," Baldrick answered, still shaky. "But I stepped on one."

Blackadder hurried over to shine his mini torch at the mud under Baldrick's sneakers.

"Well, it's gone now," he said, relieved.

"I want to go back inside the time machine, my lord," Baldrick whined. "I don't like it here."

Just then, there came a series of terrific booms. The ground under them quaked and dirt fell onto their heads from somewhere above them. In the distance, muffled shouts and softer bangs could be heard. The shouts seemed to be getting nearer.

Baldrick started whimpering.

Lord Blackadder glared at him.

"Oh, shut-up and stop that blubbering, Baldrick. Quick, everybody, find somewhere to hide. I think someone's trying to get in here."

Baldrick and the professor dived under the table the professor's shin had discovered. It was a very close fit. Lord Blackadder shone his light frantically around the shadowy room, looking for a place to stow himself. However, as his pen light only lit up an area about the length of his pinkie finger, he was unable to spot one. Finally, he gave up and leaped into the time machine, closing the door up behind him with a resounding slam and leaving his two companions in complete darkness.

The professor and Baldrick looked at each other, or they tried to. At least, they pointed their faces towards the general area of the place where they knew the other was crouching.

"You don't think he'd leave without us, do you," the professor asked nervously.

"What, Lord Blackadder?" Baldrick looked shocked at the very suggestion. "Of course not!"

The professor breathed a sigh of relief.

"It is reassuring to know that my nephew is as noble in mind as he is in status."

Baldrick shook his head.

"No, it's not that, Mr. Lord Blackadder's Uncle. He don't know how to work the controls. Only I know that, because I'm the one what built them."

The professor nodded, somewhat disappointed.

"I see."

The voices outside were near enough to be understandable now. A man with a strangely familiar, rather nasal voice was speaking.

"Oh, no!" he shouted, somewhat frantically. "Some granite-brained moron's bunged up the entrance! Quick, George, help me shove this whatever-it-is aside!"

"Yes, sir!" came a second, slightly deeper voice.

"Hurry, now!" the first voice shouted. "Put your back into it! They're still trying to kill me!"

"Um, trying to kill _us_ , I think you mean, sir," the second voice corrected politely.

"Never mind that! Shut-up and push!"

The noises outside were like the sound effects from a bad science fiction flick, the plot of which centered on an apocalypse in which the earth is overrun by colossal, exploding tortoises and gargantuan dragonflies that went _wizz!_ as they passed overhead. The shaking continued, seemingly without end, and dirt, invisible in the blackness, continued to fall liberally from above.

Gradually, the two men outside managed to scoot the time machine far enough inwards for them to squeeze themselves into the small room. They also let in enough daylight to make the majority of the room visible. The shorter of the two raced for a small bunk at the far end of the room where he quickly exchanged his dusty, green hat for a slightly battered green helmet and tucked its strap snugly under his chin.

"Quick, George," he shouted to his taller companion, who was just standing blankly in the middle of the room. "Get in under the table and put your arms over your head." He looked frantically around the room. "Oh, God, where's Baldrick?"

Baldrick brought his head up out from under his arms at the unexpected mention of his name. Before he could respond verbally, though, someone else beat him to it.

"Here I am, sir!" a small voice piped from behind a greenish towel that was hanging by the sink. The towel was swept aside, revealing a short, spectacled, dirt-streaked figure in a tattered, greenish uniform. A floppy, ragged hat perched atop his very short, yet extremely greasy, dark hair. He seemed to be wearing every single one of his worldly possessions on his person. He stumped forward in his scratched-up boots and gave a small salute.

"Private Baldrick, reporting for duty, sir."

The first man was too frantic to even look exasperated.

"Don't report, Baldrick, get some cover! We're under attack, can't you see that? There's an air raid going on!"

"But, sir," said the dirty, ragged little man. "I can't get some cover."

"Why not?"

"Because there's two men crouching under the table where I usually hide, sir."

"What?" the first man exclaimed.

"It's true, Cap," said the tall man called George. "There _are_ two men under the table. See for yourself."

There was another shrill, ear-piercing whizzing sound, followed almost immediately by another thundering boom. Further dirt rained from the ceiling.

The first man, who very closely resembled both Lord and Professor Blackadder except for the neatly trimmed, black mustache that covered his upper lip, screwed his face up into a truly piercing glare.

"I really don't have time for this," he said. "There's an entire army of Germans outside at the moment, just waiting for me to poke my head up out of this trench so that they can use it for target practice, and I can't take cover because the only available spot is taken by two strange men in odd clothes who have absolutely no business here."

He strode angrily on booted feet over to the table, bent down, and peered at the two men huddling beneath it. They had hidden their heads under their arms and covered their eyes with their hands to avoid his stare at close range.

"Right," he said. "I'll give you to the count of one to get out from under there and explain your business. If you refuse to cooperate, I will be fully justified in having you shot. Ready? Ooonnn-"

Baldrick and the professor scrambled awkwardly out from under the table and leapt to their feet rather clumsily.

The tall one called George stared at them, his goggly eyes all a goggle.

"I say, Cap!" he exclaimed. "If this doesn't beat all. These two chappies here look just like you and Private Baldrick!" He paused for a moment to reconsider his last words. "Or, they would do if you were both about ten or fifteen years older. And if Baldrick's hair was longer, and perhaps a bit cleaner."

Captain Edmund Blackadder, for that was the shorter man's name, had turned his piercing glare on Baldrick and the professor while George was voicing his observations. The two men were feeling quite intimidated by the time he spoke. His voice had a commanding tone, quite different from the soft, almost gentle tone the professor used or the bored, sarcastic tone that was Lord Blackadder's habitual mode of speech. Aside from the disparate tones, however, the three voices were so similar that had they been involved in conversation together, they could easily have been mistaken for the sound of one man talking to himself.

"Explain your presence in this trench," the officer ordered, "and explain what that great clock is doing blocking up the door during an air raid. And this had better be phenomenally good because I've been having a really _bad_ year."

The professor looked at Baldrick who looked back at the professor who looked back at Baldrick who looked blank. Nervously, the professor cleared his throat, struggling to think of something to say that would sound more plausible to this rankled soldier than the truth.

His mouth opened, but before any sound could come out, the noise outside stopped completely. The silence was deafening. The three soldiers paused their inquisition to peer around the time machine and out the door. The professor closed his mouth.

"Thank God!" Captain Blackadder sighed as he turned back to his dugout. "It's over." Then, he remembered he had intruders to question. "Right," he said, rubbing his palms together. "Where were we?"

"Um, excuse me, sir," said George, who had been walking around the time machine and trying to peer into the narrow cracks between the planks of the door.

The Captain turned with a very small sigh.

"Yes, what is it, George?"

"Um, I think there's someone hiding in this clock-thing, sir," he said with his face pressed against the door. "I could swear I spied something move."

Captain Blackadder shot a glare over his shoulder to make sure his captives remained frozen in place, then strode over to George.

George took a step back and pointed to the crack he'd been using.

"There, sir. See for yourself."

The Captain had to raise himself up on his tip-toes in order to see through George's crack, but he did it in the most efficiently dignified way possible.

"All right, you!" he shouted through the door. "Don't think I can't see you! Out of there! I want to see you lined up with the others in ten seconds, or else."

George and Captain Blackadder stepped aside as the wooden door came thumping down.

Private Baldrick, who had the clearest view inside from where he was standing, exclaimed, "Why, it's a giant latrine!"

"What?"

Captain Blackadder stepped onto the ramp to look inside. He laughed, shortly.

"Well, what do you know. It _is_ a giant privy."

He turned a particularly piercing glare at Lord Blackadder, who was standing rather stiffly beside the panel of pull-down controls.

"And you must be the janitor. Come on, beard-face, out of there."

Lord Blackadder stepped out of the time machine and took a place beside his companions with as much lordly dignity as possible under the circumstances.

"I would assume from your uniforms that this is not the late eighteenth century?" he inquired politely.

The three soldiers looked extremely perplexed. After a tense moment, George laughed.

"Of course this isn't the late eighteenth century!" he said with a cocky toss of his head. "This is 1917, don't you know, and you've landed right, smack in the middle of the Great War!"

He leaned towards his captain confidentially and discretely made a circling motion around his ear with his finger.

"Phew! This one's madder than a hatter who's lost his favorite hat!"

Captain Blackadder straightened.

"Well, be that as it may, it still does not explain what these people are doing here!"

He took an intimidating step forward.

"I want some answers, you three, and I want them now! You could have been our deaths just then, bunging up the door with your pointless clock-faced latrine! Now, explain your presence in this dugout!"

The three time travelers looked at each other, at a loss. However, before Lord Blackadder could open his mouth to release a hopefully plausible lie, fate intervened once more and they were rudely interrupted by a tremendous, roaring shout outside in the trench.

"By Neptune's watery wet bits, what in the world is this great clock doing here!"

"I'm sure I don't know, sir," came a strained, tense voice, "but you can be sure that I shall find out at once!"

"You do that!" the first voice roared. "And tell that fool Blackadder that if he doesn't remove this thing IMMEDIATELY, I will see him shot at dawn before a firing squad! Baaah!" he brayed.

The peevish voice seemed pleased to hear this.

"Yes, of course, sir. My pleasure, sir."

George and Private Baldrick came to attention as a tall, thin man dressed in a uniform so clean and neatly pressed it looked as if it had never experienced the rigors of combat or even spent one night in a muddy dugout in a trench (which, by the way, it hadn't) squeezed his way into the dugout. His hat had a red strip around the middle. He was obviously a member of the General Staff. He gave a start when he caught sight of the three strangers standing stiffly by the table. Then, he turned a cold, questioning look at Captain Blackadder.

Captain Blackadder returned his look with a false smile.

"Why, hullo, Darling," he said, and smirked.

The man's left eye gave an involuntary twitch. Captain Blackadder seemed not to notice.

"And what is it that has torn you from your beloved desk this lovely afternoon?"

The tall, brown-mustached man screwed his eyes up into a squinty glare and shook a very rigid finger at him.

"That's _Captain_ Darling to you, Blackadder," he sneered. "And for your information, I'm here to tell you that General Melchett is outside and he says that if you don't remove that giant clock from your door immediately, he will have you shot."

The chronically tense officer seemed to brighten at this thought.

"Is that so?" Captain Blackadder asked. "Well, tell the General that I would be more than happy to do so just as soon as I find out what it is doing there in the first place and how it was brought in-for you will notice that it is both wider and taller than the door."

Captain Darling looked uncomfortably surprised and more than a little suspicious when he noticed there was truth in the Captain's statement.

"Are you trying to tell me that you have absolutely nothing to do with this?"

"Yes, I am."

Captain Darling looked down at Captain Blackadder over his nose.

"It's interesting that you should say that, Blackadder."

"And why is that?"

A small grin tweaked the corners of Captain Darling's mouth.

"Because this whole situation sounds rather like another one of your tiresome plans to get out of performing your duty."

Captain Blackadder straightened.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Darling. I am a professional soldier and as such have always endeavored to perform my duties to the best of my ability. In fact, Darling, my duty is precisely what I was doing when you squeezed your way in here. At that very moment, I had just commenced the process of ascertaining the answers to all your questions from these three intruders," he made a brusque gesture toward the time travelers.

The time travelers looked at each other in discomfort. The removal of the Captain's paralyzing glare had allowed the professor's brain time to start working, though, and now his round eyes went wide.

"Oh, my God," he whispered through his fingertips. "I believe I recognize that dark soldier."

Lord Blackadder seemed almost interested.

"Yes? Who is he?"

The professor looked pale and shaken.

"It's Uncle Blackie!"

Lord Blackadder squinted his eyes and peered critically at the dark soldier.

"You mean _that's_ Captain 'Blackie' Blackadder? Hero of Umbodo Gorge?"

The professor grinned.

"Amazing, isn't it? Our family's own living, breathing history – and its playing out right in front of us!"

Baldrick nodded his agreement, though his eyes were riveted to Private Baldrick who was standing next to Lieutenant George beside the time machine.

Captain Darling and Captain Blackadder had continued with their sparring match, for it was more of a sparring match than a conversation, while the time travelers whispered to each other and, so, hadn't heard a word they'd said. Which was a pity, really, because their whispers had held the answers to many of the questions they were now shouting at each other.

Captain Darling turned his rigid, shaking finger towards the time travelers.

"And just who are these persons?" he asked with a cold squint. "Relatives of yours, Blackadder?"

"What, these bug-eyed, beetle-browed freaks? I've never seen them before in my life!" Captain Blackadder retorted angrily.

Captain Darling smirked.

"It's funny you should describe them that way, Blackadder, because I couldn't help noticing what a strong resemblance they bear to you."

Captain Blackadder drew himself up, clearly offended and terribly imposing in his uniform.

"They look nothing like me! Exactly what are you implying, Darling? That I invited my family here to the trenches in the middle of a war and just for larks we decided to bung up the door with an enormous clock the presence of which, unless it was constructed right on this spot in the past fifteen minutes, is an utter physical impossibility? It doesn't _look_ compactable, does it?"

"Well, if they're not your relatives, what are they doing in your trench?" Captain Darling asked in a maddeningly reasonable tone. "And what _is_ that gigantic clock doing blocking up your entrance way?"

"I am certain that all these queries can be answered quite easily by the intruders you are keeping me from questioning!"

"Well, they had better have a mighty fine explanation for all this. I can assure you that the General sounded quite serious when he threatened to have you shot."

Captain Blackadder swallowed.

Darling's smirk broadened as he continued, "Don't forget that you are the officer in charge here, and so are responsible for all happens." He drew himself up with a snively look of haughty superiority.

Captain Blackadder ground his teeth.

"What is taking so long in there, Darling?!" the General boomed angrily from beyond the time machine. "I told you to find out what's going on in there, not to have a have a four hour chat! Somebody remove this thing! I want to get in!"

The four soldiers moved at once to the time machine, pulling it inwards inch after strenuous inch until the gap was wide enough for the General to squeeze through. The General was a very tall man with a red face, an extremely bushy mustache, and a rather crooked nose. His short, dark hair was parted in the middle and neatly oiled and combed back from his forehead. He seemed to be in rather a bad temper. However, even with all this taken into account, the time travelers couldn't help noticing what a remarkable resemblance this man held to the Roman soldier Melchettus, whom they had seen back in the year 43 AD.

"Attention," Captain Darling barked.

All soldiers present snapped to attention. The time travelers looked nervous. General Melchett strode forward.

"Blackadder!" he bellowed, advancing towards the stiffened, yet seemingly unintimidated Captain. "What do you mean by blocking up your door like that? I couldn't get in!"

"I do apologize, sir," he answered briskly. "But then, neither could we when we were trying to take cover during the recent air raid. Lieutenant George and I had to push it aside as the bombs were dropping above our heads before we could enter."

"Well, then, you shouldn't have put it there, should you?!" the General roared.

"But, sir, I am trying to tell you that we did not put it there. In fact, we have no idea how it even got here. But, we were just about to find out from these three civilians who seem to have come with it."

"CIVILIANS!" General Melchett looked shocked. "What! What are you doing, letting civilians in this trench, Blackadder? And during an air raid, no less!"

"Sir, I did not _let_ them in."

"Then why are they here?"

"With respect, I would try asking _them_ that, sir."

General Melchett looked angry.

"This is very shoddy work, Blackadder, very shoddy! I would have expected better from an experienced soldier like you. What has happened to discipline, responsibility? Things like this wouldn't happen if you were more alert. Why, back in my Cambridge days, if a linebacker wasn't alert, he'd get the stuffing knocked out of him! This is no way to win a match, Blackadder, no sir! Alertness, that's the key! Alertness! And durable shoulder pads. Baaaaaah!"

Captain Blackadder's eyes had taken on a dark, smoldering cast.

"Yes, sir," he answered.

Captain Darling, who had taken up his customary position behind the General's broad shoulder, looked smug.

"Though," the General continued, taking no notice of the Captain's affirmation, "it is quite an attractive clock, I must say."

"It's not a clock, sir," piped Private Baldrick from the corner beside Lieutenant George. "It's really a giant latrine."

"What?" boomed the General with interest. He strode around it and peered inside. "Why, so it is! Even better! Darling!"

Captain Darling straightened with a slight twitch of his eye.

"Yes, sir?"

"Take this down!"

Captain Darling pulled out a pad and held a pen poised half-eagerly over the paper. The General continued speaking without pause as his personal secretary performed these familiar actions.

"I want you to order me one of these for my office. And see if they come set on wheels. This could be very handy to me. You know how it is, with my wooden bladder, what!"

Captain Darling grimaced. His eye twitched. "Yes, sir."

General Melchett rubbed his large palms together.

"Well, I suppose that's all. Good afternoon, Blackadder."

He started to go out. Captain Darling looked pensive.

"But, sir-?"

General Melchett turned around, slightly annoyed.

"Yes? What is it, Darling?"

The man's eye twitched again.

"Sir, I thought you'd come to tell Captain Blackadder about-"

The General interrupted him with a very loud, "Oh, yes! I nearly forgot!" He strode back over to Captain Blackadder. "I came to tell you that in response to Gerry's attack on us today, we are going to strike back tomorrow with all we've got!"

Captain Blackadder looked cynical.

"Are you certain that's wise, sir?"

"Of course I am! We've been standing still for far too long!"

"Three years to be precise," the Captain muttered under his breath.

"Exactly!" the General bellowed. "It's about time we pushed ahead! So, tomorrow, we shall cross over No Man's Land and go over the top to glory! Baaaaaaaaah!"

Captain Darling clapped obsequiously. George and Private Baldrick broke out of their attention stance to clap enthusiastically along with him, George adding a boisterous "Hoorah!" into the bargain. The General basked in their applause.

"Right!" the General exclaimed. "Get a good night's sleep, boys! I want bright eyes and bushy tails for tomorrow's advance! Come along, Darling, it's time to go."

Captain Darling's eye twitched once more as he turned to follow the General out.

Once they were gone, Captain Blackadder let out a deep groan. He seemed about to comment when his glare fell upon the time travelers once more. He turned towards them ominously, and strode forward until he was standing practically nose to nose with them. He paced slowly up and down the line for several long seconds before he spoke.

"Right," he said. "Now, can any one of you tell me just what is going on here?"

"I can, sir," Private Baldrick said from behind him."

"I wasn't asking you, Baldrick, I was asking these intruders here."

"Yes, sir. But I do know what happened."

The Captain turned reluctantly, clearly not believing a word of it.

"Very well, then, Baldrick. I'll ask you. What happened?"

"Well, sir, it's like this. I was standing in the corner, there, setting out my rat trap, when everything around me went all wibbly."

"Wibbly." The Captain repeated the unfamiliar term with palpable distaste. "Yes. And could you define, 'wibbly', Baldrick?"

The unkempt Private looked thoughtful.

"Well, it's sort of wavy-like, you know? Sort of like pavement on a hot day."

"Well, Baldrick, that's not so surprising then. Things always seem wibbly around you. A result of never having bathed, no doubt."

"I'm not with you, sir."

"You never are, Baldrick. Now, get on with it. What happened after everything went 'wibbly'?"

"Well, it got very dark and there was a loud thump. After a while, a door came down from that giant privy there and these three men came out. The old one that looks like you bumped his leg on that table there, and the other one who looks like you called him 'uncle'. The one with the strange shoes is called Baldrick, like me. He called the bearded one who looks like you 'Lord Blackadder'. When they heard the bombs and airplanes overhead, Uncle and Baldrick hid under the table, and Lord Blackadder ran into the privy. Only, they called it a time machine. Then, you and Lieutenant George came in."

Captain Blackadder looked at the scruffy, little, spectacled soldier, not comprehending. Then, he turned to Lieutenant George.

"George, did you get any of that?"

"Well, sir," he said, "as far as I can tell, these three chappies here appeared out of nowhere in a giant time machine, which I suppose is a fancy name for a clock that looks like a water closet on the inside, the two that look like you are related, and at least one of them has the same last name as you. Also, the little one with the funny shoes has the same name as our own Private Baldrick. Other than that, I didn't understand a thing."

The Captain looked unhappy.

"Unfortunately, that's all I could get out of that jumbled mound of syllables as well."

"Private Baldrick's right, though, Captain Blackadder," Baldrick spoke up.

The soldiers looked at him as if he were some sort of strange smelling fungus that had just popped unexpectedly up out of the ground.

Captain Blackadder turned his attention back to the time travelers.

"All right, I want a full, coherent explanation and I want it now. No more of this shilly-shallying. You!" he said, pointing directly at Lord Blackadder. "You seem to be the ringleader of this little party, standing there so silent and cocky. You do the explaining. And, as I said, this had better be phenomenally good."

Lord Blackadder straightened and tugged the wrinkles out of his, now slightly dusty, velveteen dinner jacket. His brain felt empty as a void in which a vacuum cleaner had been at work clearing up whatever specks of matter might have wandered in by chance. He had to stall for time in order to come up with something good to say to this rather irritable soldier.

"Well, before we get into explanations," he tried, "I think a few introductions are in order." The Captain glared darkly at him. Lord Blackadder cleared his throat. "After all," he continued, "we are guests in this trench."

"He's right, sir," said George. "Introductions do seem to be in order, if proper etiquette is to be followed."

Captain Blackadder seemed ready to explode.

"Fine!" he cried. "Introductions! Unwelcome intruders, this tall moron standing beside me is Lieutenant The Honorable George Colthurst St. Barleigh-"

"Tally ho, pip-pip, and Daniel Boone's your uncle, it's jolly nice to meet you all!" George interrupted boisterously. He held out a jovial hand and the time travelers each shook it in turn.

Captain Blackadder gave him a glare that could have frozen the helium in a child's balloon into a small, hard lump.

"Finished?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, sir! Quite."

"Good."

He turned to Private Baldrick, who grinned good-naturedly behind his dusty spectacles.

"And this escapee from the London Zoo is Private S. Baldrick. I wouldn't advise you to attempt to satisfy your curiosity as to what the _S_ in his name stands for. You will find you are better off not knowing."

Private Baldrick looked as if he had just been given a great compliment. The time travelers smiled weakly at him, except for Baldrick who seemed somewhat star-struck.

The Captain continued.

"And I am Captain Edmund Blackadder, the unfortunate officer in command of this sorry trench. Now, make your introductions short and snappy then get right on into your explanation. I am starting to lose the last of my ever waning supply of patience."

Lord Blackadder nodded.

"Very well. To my left stands my uncle, Edmund Blackadder, professor of English History at Oxford University."

"See," whispered Private Baldrick with a nudge to Lieutenant George. "I told you they was related."

Captain Blackadder turned coldly to his subordinates.

"You two are not to speak from this moment on unless I give you my express permission. Is that clear?"

The two looked uncomfortable. The Captain sighed very deeply.

"Permission to speak."

"Yes, sir! Quite clear, sir!" they chorused.

Captain Blackadder shook his head and turned back to the time travelers.

"Go on," he commanded.

"The scruffy little man in the sneakers by the table is my servant. By some strange coincidence, his name is S. Baldrick as well, and if what the _S_ in his name stands for is anything like what the _S_ in your Private's name stands for, I must say you are quite right in your view that it is not worth knowing."

The Captain was not amused.

"And yourself?"

"I," Lord Blackadder stated, drawing himself up, "am Lord Edmund Blackadder, of Blackadder Hall."

The Captain looked unimpressed.

"I can't say I've ever heard of you. But then, you could be lying. Now, get on with your explanation. There shall be no further interruptions."

Lord Blackadder's brain was still feeling ticklishly vacuous. Under the cold, brown eyes of his great-uncle, however, his mouth started to speak before his brain had time to think of what would be best to say. By the time his brain caught up to his mouth, he had pretty much told their entire story, from the bizarre Roman battle to where they were just about to leave little Edmund in the alley, meaning to meet with him at the palace gates the next day. Fortunately, his mouth had had the sense not to let slip any of the secret, personal ambitions which were the main reason for their entire adventure. His brain breathed a sigh of relief.

"So," his mouth was concluding, "the next thing we knew, we were here. So, now you see the reason for my question earlier, relating to your uniforms and the late eighteenth century."

There was absolute silence for a moment. Then Captain Blackadder, who had been sitting on his bunk with his arms crossed (and one finger toying with the butt of his gun) listening to the story in a somewhat incredulous fashion, gave him an unmistakably incredulous look. He raised one dark eyebrow.

"That," he stated, "has to have been the biggest load of total codswallop mankind has been subjected to since the invention of the horoscope."

The professor and Baldrick looked uncomfortable. Lord Blackadder looked haughty. The one time he actually told the truth, and he wasn't believed! He breathed out sharply through his nose with cynicism.

"Typical," he thought.

George spoke up.

"Well, sir, it does explain how they managed to squeeze the thing in here. And why they look so much like Private Baldrick and yourself. Imagine! Getting a visit from your own descendants from almost a hundred years in the future! It's absolutely incredible! And I must say, it was a rollicking good story! I especially liked the part about the elephants!"

Private Baldrick grinned.

"And I liked the part when Baldrickus wiped clean the professor's turdy shoes." He gave a rather snorty chuckle. "That was funny!"

Their Captain tried to look patient through his annoyance. "Well, Baldrick, if that so-called story of theirs is true, it means that your family has not done much evolving since the days of the ancient Romans. If I'm not mistaken, you still do eat dung, don't you?"

"Only on special occasions, sir," Private Baldrick replied seriously.

"Yes. The rest of the time you stick to trench rats."

Private Baldrick grinned widely, showing yellow, filmy teeth. "That's right, sir."

Captain Blackadder turned his head with a slight shudder.

"God save us," he moaned. Then, he bit the inside of his cheek, closed his eyes, and breathed in deeply through his nose. When he looked up, he seemed slightly calmer.

The professor stepped forward, thinking it was as good a time as any to return the subject to its previous track.

"So you see, sir, our presence here is a complete accident. If you would just let us re-enter our time machine, we would be able to return to that poor boy we left behind and leave you to your duties."

The Captain seemed to consider this. Lieutenant George looked excited.

"Oh, please, sir!" he pleaded. "I would so like to see a real time machine in action, what! Zim- skiddel-ee-dee-zoom and they're off into the depths of time and space! It really is quite exciting, isn't it, Captain?"

A sly look had entered into the Captain's skeptical brown eyes. He smiled without parting his lips.

"Very well," he said. "Let's see you make this great box vanish into thin air. I must admit, that is something I am really quite interested to witness."

Lord Blackadder fixed him with the mirror image of the look described above, except for the part about the skeptical brown eyes. His brown eyes were actually looking rather smug.

"All right, Captain." He leaned over to Baldrick and whispered, "This'll show that smarmy son of bachelor."

The professor, who had overheard, straightened, scandalized.

"Really, Nephew!" he whispered, "He's your own great-uncle! Show some respect."

"Perhaps I would, if he'd do the same for me. Besides, he doesn't believe we're any relation to him. Come on, let's get going before he changes his mind and decides to interrogate us some more."

The three soldiers watched as the three time travelers strode up the ramp and entered the time machine. Attempting to show off a bit in front of the Captain, Lord Blackadder turned to Baldrick, who had taken up his place by the controls, and said theatrically, "Right, Baldrick! Set the date and let's be off!"

Baldrick, not quite catching on to the proper mood, turned to his employer with a rather blank look.

"And which date is that, my lord?"

Lord Blackadder pursed his lips.

"1778, of course, you toad-brained little gimp!" he hissed through his teeth. He turned a false smile towards the soldiers, who were watching their every move with the deepest interest.

Baldrick looked enlightened.

"Oh," he said. "Right."

The professor walked over to him with a kind smile.

"I'll assist, if you don't mind," he offered.

"No thanks," said Baldrick. "I've got this well in hand."

"We'll see about that," Lord Blackadder muttered to the wall as Baldrick pulled the lever that would start them off. The wall gave no reply, save for a slight creak as the time machine started juddering.

Baldrick gave Lord Blackadder a confident wink as the shuddering smoothed out. Then, they both went to sit down. The professor remained standing for a moment, bending over or standing on his tip-toes now and then as he inspected the controls, then he joined them on the toilet. He seemed happy.

"Maybe now, we'll get somewhere," he said cheerily.

"One can only hope," Lord Blackadder said, unhopefully.

* * *

Lieutenant George rubbed his eyes. He just couldn't believe it. One moment the giant clock was there in front of them, as solid as Chuck Norris's abs, the next it had vanished in a wibble of light and sound.

"I say!" he exclaimed rather inarticulately, completely forgetting the Captain's earlier order for him not to speak until he was first spoken to. "I jolly well say! That was just...well...it was just..." He broke off to think of the proper phasing for the meaning he wished to get across. "Well, it was brain-crunchingly fantastic, that's what I say! What do you say, Cap?"

The Captain seemed to have frozen in place, a strange look of wild disbelief swimming in his widened eyes, though his lips were still twisted into a skeptical smirk.

Private Baldrick nudged him gently.

"Captain Blackadder?" he queried.

The Captain didn't move.

George and Baldrick looked at each other, rather at a loss.

"I think he's dropped off, sir," said Baldrick.

George shook his head.

"No, I don't think so. See, his eyes are open. And he's standing up."

Baldrick nodded, then looked thoughtful.

"Well, horses stand up when they're sleeping, don't they, sir?"

George laughed.

"Yes, but the Captain is hardly a horse, Baldrick. Or a fish for that matter."

"Why a fish?"

"Well, fishes sleep with their eyes open."

"They do?"

"Yes. Well, that's what I've heard. But, as I was saying, the Captain is neither a horse, nor a fish. Are you, Captain?"

The Captain remained frozen.

George looked concerned.

"You don't think he's dead, do you?"

"How do you mean, sir?"

"Well, he's not moving. Do you think the shock of seeing the time machine vanish has killed him?"

Before Baldrick could answer, a hand reached out and grabbed George tightly by the arm. George started, then tried to squirm free. The hand held fast, refusing to come dislodged. George ran his eyes up the hand's arm, trying to see who it was attached to. Once he had, he breathed a sigh of relief. Apparently, the Captain had defrosted.

"George," Captain Blackadder rasped with some difficulty. He seemed rather ill.

"Yes, sir?" the lieutenant asked brightly.

"Please tell me you just saw what I did."

"You mean the time machine vanishing into thin air with a wibble of light and sound?"

"Yes, that's the one."

"Then, yes, I jolly well did. And, as I was just saying, and Private Baldrick can vouch for me here, it was brain-crunchingly fantastic!"

Baldrick grinned.

"It was as fantastic as a turnip what's grown into the exact size and shape of General Melchett's mustache."

Captain Blackadder nodded weakly.

"George," he said as he staggered to his bunk, "I'm going to bed to sleep off whatever it is I ingested to trigger such a series of hallucinations. If I get a call from Headquarters, tell them I've gone temporarily insane."

"Yes, sir. But-that wasn't a hallucination, sir."

"Oh, yes it was, Lieutenant! If it had been real, that would mean that I have just missed out on a miraculous, once in a lifetime opportunity to get out of this crazy war with my skin intact in such a way that those fools at Headquarters would be totally unable to track me down and have me shot as a deserter. Those men who have just vanished into thin air could have taken me to any time I wished! Since this thought is too soul-crushingly depressing to even consider as fact, this whole experience has to have been a hallucination. Understand?"

George nodded, uncomprehendingly.

"Yes, sir," he said. "Private Baldrick and I will leave you to rest, then."

Captain Blackadder sat heavily on his bunk with a low groan and started to raise his feet. Then, he paused. A sly smile started to grow on his slowly brightening face.

"Insanity!" he cried. "That's it!"

"Beg pardon, sir?" asked George, turning back from the door.

Captain Blackadder shot his subordinates a crafty grin.

"I've just come up with a plan to get out of that suicide charge the General has scheduled for tomorrow!"

"Is it a cunning plan, sir?" asked Baldrick.

Captain Blackadder rubbed his palms together.

"Oh, yes," he said, and grinned. "Very cunning."

* * *

 _Until next time! :)  
_


	5. Chapter 4

**#4: 1805 A.D. The Butler Did It!**

 **involving:**

 **a very dirty trick, a short adventure, and (finally) some helpful information**

Edmund Blackadder leaned back comfortably in his chair, the day's paper spread out on the little, wooden table before him turned to an account of the previous weekend's royal ball. The reporter had taken particular notice of the Prince Regent's speech, praising it for its wit and brevity. Edmund smiled to himself with unconcealed pride. He had written that speech himself. It did him good to know that others had an appreciation for true talent when they saw it. Even if that talent, for the moment, was forced to remain anonymous, lurking behind the loud, uncouth, glassy-eyed, fish-like face of the Prince Regent.

"You look happy, Mr. B.," the small, scruffy man peeling potatoes piped up from behind him. "What's that you're reading?"

Edmund closed the paper and gave the man a small smile.

"It's an account of my speech that was given at the ball last weekend. Apparently, it went over quite well."

The little man tossed one naked, whitish potato into a large, black pot and took up a dirty, brown potato from the enormous pile beside him.

"Oh, I didn't know you gave a speech at the ball, sir."

Edmund turned in his chair to look at him.

" _I_ didn't give the speech, Baldrick, Prince George did."

"But, you said-"

"I _wrote_ the speech, Baldrick. The Prince read it out to all the gathered nobbs of the land, but I was the one who wrote it."

Baldrick nodded his head and tossed his skinless potato into the pot with the other one.

"Oh, I see. So, what does the paper say about it?"

Edmund picked up the newspaper and shook it out with a flourish. Locating the passage he wished to quote, he picked up his magnifying glass and read:

" 'One of the highlights of the evening was

the Prince Regent's opening speech. It was

(surprisingly) short, witty, and to the point.

And, unlike so many of his previous recitals,

the prince managed to get through it without

a single uncouth comment or rude noise.' "

Edmund grinned and folded the paper.

"So, you see Baldrick, my skill as a writer is finally starting to gain its deserved appreciation. It's also good to see that those long weeks of rehearsal with the prince paid off as well. I must admit I was rather worried whether he'd be able to pull it off. It's not easy instructing a gittish, port-brained twerp like the prince in the subtle art of proper speech delivery, you know."

Baldrick nodded over his half-peeled potato.

"Me father had to give a speech once."

"Oh, yes? And what was it about? The proper way to scoop dung from the cobblestones?"

"No. Actually it was about changing the monetary standard of England so that there would be more money floating around which would make it easier for the common man to pay his taxes to support the war against the Emperor Napoleon and feed his family as well."

Edmund raised an eyebrow. "And what did he propose we change the standard to?"

"Dung."

Edmund turned back to his newspaper.

"I see."

"No, it made sense, actually. He said that since there was an endless supply of it, and since everyone made their own, no one need ever be poor again. And, different types of dung could count for different amounts. Horse dung would be so much, dog dung would be so much, rabbit dung would be so much, and so on."

"Another brilliant plan hatched from the Baldrick family communal brain cell," Edmund muttered with a harsh sarcasm.

Baldrick grinned.

"Yeah, me father thought so. That's why he tried to run for Parliament."

"And did he get anywhere?"

"No, actually," Baldrick said. Edmund nodded, not surprised. "No one seemed to understand the point he was getting at."

Edmund turned to face Baldrick once again.

"Baldrick," he said.

The little man looked up from his potato.

"Yes, Mr. B.?"

"The next time you feel the urge to relate an uninteresting tidbit of your family's sordid history to me, please, resist the temptation with all the force of your being."

Baldrick shrugged.

"If you say so, Mr. B."

He turned back to his potatoes. Edmund noticed with some disgust that more dirt was smeared onto the crisp, white potatoes from Baldrick's greasy fingers than was peeled off with the skins.

"And, Baldrick-," he added.

"Yes, Mr. B.?"

"I'll be eating out tonight, so don't make any of that stew-like substance you're preparing for me, all right?"

"No problem, Mr. B." Baldrick smiled. "That means more for me and the prince."

"Quite."

Edmund stretched in his chair, then turned to glance at the kitchen clock.

"Ah," he said. "It's nearly three in the afternoon. The prince will be waking up soon."

He stood and smoothed the wrinkles from his rich, black coat and his jeweled, black waistcoat with the red trim. The irritating fact that he was only a butler did not stop him from dressing rather more elegantly than his master did. His shiny, black, leather shoes clicked on the stone floor of the palace kitchen as Edmund strode towards the table where Baldrick was working. The shoes' golden buckles glittered in the firelight of the wide, stone fireplace behind it.

"Right, Baldrick," he said. "Have you got the prince's breakfast tray ready, as I asked?"

"It's over there, sir," the filthy little man answered, gesturing over his shoulder with his knife.

Edmund walked over to inspect it. Just as he slipped his fingers into the tray's silver handles, the sound of a tinkling bell filled the small kitchen. Edmund gave a small, tight-lipped smile.

"Right on time."

Lifting the breakfast tray, Edmund climbed the stairs that led to the foyer in front of the prince's chambers.

"Oh, and Baldrick," he called down to his servant from halfway through the thick, wooden door.

"Yes, sir?" the scabby man asked.

"See if you can get some dusting done today. Last time I went to look through the prince's library, the dust was so thick I could write my name in it. Now, I know that I'm the only person in this palace who ever goes in there to actually look for a book, but still, it shouldn't look as neglected as it is."

"Yes, sir."

"Oh, and the chimneys are due for a clean as well. I was going to get that young Travers to do it, but he's raised his price and, due to the prince's ongoing obsession with that blasted card game, we are currently unable to meet it. That means you'll have to do it."

"All right, Mr. B. Though, I'll miss those birds what's nesting in this chimney."

"I'm sure they won't miss you. Besides, if you don't remove them, I'll have them shot and cooked for my dinner. I find their constant racket most annoying. But, do the library first, Baldrick. Then you can deal with the chimneys."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

Edmund entered into the prince's lounge without even the slightest premonition that anything in any way out of the ordinary could possibly be waiting for him on the other side of the richly decorated wooden doors. Because of this, his temporary slip out of the character of the perfectly imperturbable butler which he usually played with such skill while on duty can probably be excused. The sight that greeted him as he stepped through the doors with his tray could have widened the eyes and raised the eyebrows even of Mr. S.U. Lipp, winner of the annual Most Imperturbable Man in England contest ten years running. Edmund, who only played at being imperturbable, was stunned so badly by what he saw that not only did his eyes widen and his eyebrows raise, but his shaking hands nearly dropped the prince's breakfast tray. The only thing that kept his jaw from falling and simply hanging there, wobbling freely in the breeze, was years and years of constant admonitions from stiff older folks with piercing eyes.

Prince George stepped forward, in his customary, jovial mood. He was still in his night attire, though his voluminous, white-blonde wig was already perched atop his head, completely covering his natural, brown hair.

"What ho, Blackadder!" he exclaimed brightly. "Why, you look like a man who's just been informed by a reliable source that his much disliked, loud-mouthed, overbearing great-aunt has just dropped by for dinner unannounced. Are you quite all right?"

Edmund gave a slight shudder as his mind snapped back to attention. He quickly straightened and tried to shrug back into his thinly woven cloak of imperturbability. It remained somewhat wrinkled and loose, but it was better than it had been before.

"Y-yes, your highness," Edmund replied, his eyes glued to the small group of men standing in the middle of the room. "I'm fine. It's just that I wasn't aware that you were expecting guests this afternoon."

The prince smiled.

"You're right there, Blackadder. I wasn't expecting guests. But they _dropped_ in anyway! Unusual emphasis on the _dropped_ , here, you'll notice."

Edmund nodded weakly. His own neatly styled black wig felt unusually tight around the ears.

The prince went on.

"I'll tell you why. You know, the most unusual, fantastic thing happened today, Blackadder."

"Oh, yes, sir?"

"Yes, indeed! I had just woken up and was reaching for the bell pull when suddenly the ceiling of my bedroom went all wibbly, almost like waves at the seashore."

"Indeed, sir?"

"Yes! And do you know what happened next?"

Edmund, who was still staring at the three men behind the prince, said levelly, "I believe I have a rather good idea, your highness."

"I don't see how you could. I would never have thought it possible, not in a million, billion, zillion years!"

"Allow me this supposition, sir," said Edmund, placing the breakfast tray down gently on a nearby table. "A large box with a clock on it appeared in your room out of thin air and these three men came out of it from the door on the side. As they did, you noticed that the interior had two wooden toilets at the back."

The prince's round, goggly eyes grew three times as wide and goggly.

"Why, that's exactly right, Blackadder! My, but you must be something of a clairvoyant! How did you ever guess?!"

"I did not guess, sir. I have met these three individuals before."

The prince's appearance had more than a little in common with that of an asphyxiating fish. In short, he goggled.

"Is that so?! Astonishing! When was this?"

"Shortly before I first entered your service, sir. They wanted me to find out some information for them. They promised that they would be back by the next evening to discover what I had learned, but they never showed up."

He turned a dark, accusing glare on the three time travelers.

"To tell you the truth, your highness, I'd all but forgotten them until this moment."

The prince's eyes had grown so wide that Edmund was starting to fear for their safety.

"How could you possibly have had an experience like the one I just experienced in my bedroom and not remember it?" he exclaimed incredulously.

"Well, your highness," Edmund said, his glare darkening, "twenty-seven years is a long time."

The prince nodded, his eyes returning to their normal size.

"Yes, well, you do have a point there. But why didn't you ever tell me about it?"

"Well, sir," Edmund replied lightly, shifting his dark eyes towards his employer. "You never asked."

The prince nodded again.

"True, true. Another point well made." He looked thoughtful for a moment, then he brightened. "Ah, Blackadder, I remember now why I rang for you."

"Yes, sir?"

"Yes. I am in absolutely no state for entertaining guests, Blackadder, as I'm sure you've noticed."

"I have, sir."

"Good. So, here's the plan. I'll just pop back into my room for brekkers while you keep these three good fellows entertained. Then, you can come in to dress me, and we'll then find out all about just what exactly is going on here. What do you think?"

"I think that to be a surprisingly good plan, sir, coming from you."

"Well, thank you, Bladders!" he exclaimed, as if he had just been complimented. The time travelers behind him smirked, both at the name and at the prince's obvious stupidity. The prince continued, cheerfully. "Is that my breakfast?" he asked, pointing to the silver tray.

"It is, sir," Edmund replied, picking it up. "I'll just get it set for you."

* * *

The three time travelers watched as the prince and his butler vanished into the prince's bedroom. Lord Blackadder turned to Baldrick.

"Not bad, actually Baldrick," he said. "We may be twenty-some-odd years off, but at least we've got the right person. I must admit I am rather impressed."

Baldrick seemed to be blushing, but it was hard to tell under all the grime, spots, and stubble on his face.

"Oh, thank you, my lord."

"Actually, I think this is even better than before," said the professor.

"Oh?" asked Lord Blackadder. "How so?"

"Well, it should be much easier to get at the information we're after from this adult Edmund than from the child we conversed with before."

"Possibly, Uncle," Lord Blackadder granted, "but he does seem rather sore with us. Maybe he won't cooperate as willingly as before."

The professor waved that concern aside.

"No, he'll do what the prince tells him to do. He is a butler, after all."

Lord Blackadder smirked.

"That is true. But, I wouldn't be so sure about his pliability if I were you."

The door to the prince's room opened and Edmund stepped out. He stood there for a moment, straight postured and dark, glaring at them imperiously. He seemed most sinister in his expensive, black butler's uniform and his finely styled black wig. It was quite an astonishing change from the scruffy little street urchin they had encountered on their earlier visit.

"So," the dark man said. "You've come back at last, have you? Trouble setting the date on your time machine, my friends?"

"We apologize most deeply for having kept you waiting for so long, Edmund," the professor said meekly.

The butler's glare went from cold to frigid.

"I expect that you're still after information about our mutual ancestors?"

"Well, yes, actually."

"Then, you're just going to have to wait, I'm afraid. I have a job to do at the moment, and I can't be bothered just now with the wishes of a trio of incompetents from the future who can't even work their own time machine properly." He started to turn back to the door of the Prince's bedroom, but then stopped and shot a glare back at them from over his shoulder. "Oh, and you do realize, of course, that you can't tell the prince the truth about who you really are. He could never wrap his head around it. You've got until we come out of this room to come up with a boring, yet plausible explanation for your presence here. Once the prince has lost interest in you, I'll take you to a place where you can find out what you wish to know. Fair enough?"

The time travelers nodded, though Lord Blackadder had fixed Edmund with a dark look of his own.

"Good," said the butler with a thin smile, aimed directly at Lord Blackadder's glare. Then, he thrust open the doors to the prince's bedroom and strode in, closing them gently behind him.

The professor turned to his companions with widened eyes.

"Why," he exclaimed, "I do believe we've just been told off and snubbed! I could tell from the moment I first saw him that boy was too cheeky for his own good. And now, we've seen the result. He acts as if he owns the place."

Lord Blackadder nodded his agreement.

"Though," he said, "judging from the intellectual capacity of the prince, I'd say Edmund is probably the one who runs the place, if he doesn't actually own it. And, he did say he'd get us that information."

The professor plunked himself down on one of the prince's chairs, still somewhat pouty.

"Well, that still doesn't excuse him from behaving towards us like a stuck-up little turd. There's no respect in the younger generation any more. No respect at all."

Lord Blackadder shared an amused glance with Baldrick. His uncle, though physically older than Edmund, was chronologically more than a century younger than the bitter butler. Lord Blackadder was starting to feel he liked this lower middle-class ancestor of his. Not well enough that he would like it to be widely known that he was related to him, but there was something of a softening in that direction.

* * *

The prince was munching on a triangle of buttered toast and meandering around the time machine next to his bed with his round eyes wide with wonder when Edmund came striding in.

"Oh, Blackadder!" he exclaimed as he looked up and swallowed. "Just look at this great box! It's absolutely amazing! And," he added, pointing to the clock on the front, "it's got the correct time as well."

Edmund slithered about the room, opening drawers and wardrobes and taking out various vestments to dress the prince in. He helped the prince step into his trousers, then strode off to chose a cravat. The prince swallowed the last of his toast and sat in his corner chair, arms up to receive his shirt and waistcoat. He continued talking all through the process of getting dressed.

"You know," he was saying as Edmund slipped his shoes on his feet and polished them lightly with a white rag, "those three chappies out there look uncannily familiar. I just can't quite place where it is I've seen them before. They are dressed rather oddly, though, aren't they."

Edmund looked up from polishing the prince's shoes.

"Yes, your highness. I was thinking that myself. Particularly that bearded one with the fuzzy coat."

"And that little one with the stringy hair. I've never seen such shoes before. What do you suppose they're made of?"

Edmund stood and brushed the dust from the knees of his black hose.

"I couldn't say, sir. But, knowing him and his kind only too well, I wouldn't be too keen on finding out."

The prince stood and strode across the room to admire himself in front of his mirror. As he turned and twisted he said, "Yes, you did mention that you had met them before, Blackadder. Perhaps you could enlighten me as to their names and what their business with me is."

Edmund straightened.

"With you, sir?"

"Well, of course with me! Who else would they be here to see?" He turned back to his mirror, straightening his lavender coat with pearls sewn all over it. His light white and pastel clothing contrasted sharply with the deep, black clothing of his butler. "They did land in my bedroom after all."

"Yes, sir," said Edmund. "Shall we join them now? I am sure they would be only too willing to provide the answers to any questions you may have about them themselves."

With a slight tap on his huge, yellowish wig, the prince nodded.

"Yes, indeed, Bladders! We've kept those poor chaps waiting long enough, what!"

Edmund held the door open for his prince with a polite incline of his head. He slid out silently after him, closing the door behind himself without even a click. The three time travelers were sitting together in a sort of half-circle by the fireplace. They looked up with a slight start when the prince made his characteristically boisterous entrance.

"Tally, bally ho, my three unknown visitors! Sorry to keep you waiting-bad manners and all that-but I simply can't be expected to entertain in my night attire, now can I?" He burst into a short blast of laughter. The time travelers half-smiled back.

"Now, what do you say we get down to business, what?" the prince continued. "I've got to get down to my club in thirty minutes. They're having their annual darts competition, and I've got to be there to hold the dartboard! They said I did a jolly good job of it last year, though I did get some darts stuck in my wig. And one nearly punctured my sausage casing, if you know what I mean!" To a trained eye, Edmund's lips would seem to have been set in a distinct smirk. To the prince, however, he seemed as composed as ever. "Some of those fellows have pretty poor aim, I can tell you!" he exclaimed.

"Yes, your highness," Edmund agreed, his faint smirk becoming more pronounced as he spoke. "Of course, the true quality of their aim does depend on what it is they are aiming for, doesn't it, sir."

The prince nodded.

"Quite right, quite right. My, you're full of good points today, Bladders! If you add another one to your already considerable pile, why, you'll be too sharp to touch!"

The time travelers looked amused.

"Quite, sir," Edmund said, aiming a dark look at them. Baldrick and the professor sat back in their chairs, subdued, but Lord Blackadder defiantly continued to look amused.

"Our business here is actually with your butler, your highness," Lord Blackadder said with a dismissive gesture towards Edmund. Edmund twitched slightly at being called a butler, almost as if he had been struck.

The prince looked surprised at Lord Blackadder's words, and not a little disappointed.

"What, really? Bladders, what do you know of this?"

His butler straightened, fuming with quiet anger at the way Lord Blackadder had passed the buck to him.

"I shall tell you on one condition, your highness."

"Oh? And what condition is that?"

"That you stop calling me Bladders, sir."

The prince shrugged and sat down, facing the time travelers.

"Well, that's easy enough. So, come on, Bladders, tell me all."

Edmund held in his fury and embarrassment as best he could. Lord Blackadder was rocking in his chair with silent laughter. As he shot one of his darkest glares at him, Edmund realized that he had just come up with an idea that would not only explain their presence, but allow him to get back at them as well. His glare softened to a cold, sly smile.

"Yes, your highness," he replied. "They are chimney sweeps, sir, here to see about the problem we've been having lately with that family of birds that moved into the kitchen chimney several weeks ago."

The prince looked interested.

"Crikey! You mean that there are birds in the kitchen chimney, Blackadder? My, but that's a novelty! The kitchen sounds a rather interesting place. I'm going to have to find my way down there someday!"

Edmund inclined his head slightly.

"I wouldn't bother if I were you, sir. You'd probably get lost on the way, and then where would you be?"

"I'm sure I wouldn't know. If I were lost, I could be anywhere, couldn't I?"

Edmund looked tired.

"Yes, sir. So, shall I take them to the kitchen?"

The prince stood, straightening his lavender coat.

"Yes, of course. Take them there at once. And while they're here, see if they can't sweep out this chimney as well. You can't have too much cleanliness when it comes to chimneys, what!"

"Quite right, sir. Then, shall I have Baldrick hail you a cab, your highness?"

The prince looked at him, confused.

"A cab? Whatever for, Blackadder?"

"Why, so you can get to your club in time to stand in for-I mean to hold the target, sir."

The prince looked enlightened.

"Oh, yes! Quite right! I had completely forgotten about that competition, you know, Bladders, what with all the excitement and meeting new chimney sweeps and all. Yes, ring for the old grease rag at once!"

Edmund strode briskly across the room to the bell pull, which was hanging unobtrusively against the far wall, and pulled it with obvious pleasure. It was a nice turn around for the servant to ring for his own servant, and Edmund squeezed every drop of relish from the moment as he could. As he turned on his heel and walked back to the prince, the prince looked up, confused again.

"Something wrong, your highness?," Edmund asked.

"Well, it's just that great box in my room. I'm still unclear as to how it got there. Or, have we explained that already?"

"No, sir, we haven't. But I shall proceed to enlighten you as to that strange occurrence now." He strode to the front of the room and stood very straight, his feet positioned heel to toe, and a rather smug look plastered on his pale face. "What you thought you saw in your half-wakened state, namely a great box with a clock on the front appearing out of nowhere in your bedchamber-"

"After the ceiling went all wibbly, like waves at a seashore," the prince broke in.

"Yes, your highness, after that," Edmund continued. "What you thought you saw was, in reality, nothing more than the arrival of these three men from up the chimney of your bedroom fireplace in their new, mechanical chimney sweeping apparatus. They had obviously slid down the wrong one. I must admit, these chimney sweeps are not all that bright, even with the benefits of strange, new technologies." Lord Blackadder glared at him. Edmund graced him with a small smirk, then continued, "It was only because you were not yet fully awake that you thought you saw your ceiling wibble, your highness. It was most likely just a bit of soot hanging in the air."

The prince brightened considerably.

"Well, if that's all. And I must admit, it all makes perfect sense. Nothing out of the ordinary here! Could have happened to anyone! Another pin-cushion stuck full of good points, Blackadder!"

"Thank you, sir," Edmund replied with a slight bow. In his head he was thinking how implausible his explanation really was, as, no doubt, were his distant descendants. But, the prince was convinced and ready to move on to the next stage of his day, so Edmund simply chalked it up as another victory of stupidity over common sense and moved on with him.

At that moment, the double doors to the prince's lounge burst open and a short, greasy man stumped good-naturedly in. His bristly face was sprinkled with spots and his clothes oozed a stink nearly as shocking as that emitted from an agitated Tasmanian devil. Huge wads of fluffy, gray dust were hanging from his unwashed, shoulder-length brown hair.

He stopped short when he spied the three time travelers and turned a confused, questioning look to Edmund. Edmund just stared at him.

"Baldrick," he snapped, "what has happened to your hair? Or, is this some new fashion statement, like the memorable fad of 1792 when you started wearing false pimples on your nose in honor of that conceited git, the Scarlet Pimpernel?"

"What, this?" Baldrick asked as he reached up and plucked a fluffy dust wad from among the multitudes clinging to his oily hair. "No, it's dust."

"And what is it doing in your hair?"

"Well, you told me to dust the prince's library. Can I help it if there was dust in there?"

"But, what did you do? Collect it all into a pile, then roll around in it?"

"No, sir. It just sort of landed there while I was dusting."

Edmund noticed the prince was looking at him. He shook his head, letting the matter drop. "It doesn't matter. Just go outside and hail the prince a cab, will you? He's going to be late for his darts tournament."

"Right away, Mr. B.," the dusty little man grinned. And with that, he was gone.

Baldrick smiled widely as he watched him go, then leaned over to Lord Blackadder.

"You see, my lord? It's like I said before. No matter where we go, there's always a Blackadder and there's always a Baldrick. It seems rather nice, don't it?"

"No, not really, Baldrick," Lord Blackadder sighed. "It seems to me as if my family's cursed. I wonder what it is we did to deserve you."

Baldrick looked flattered.

"Maybe it was just luck."

Lord Blackadder peered at him from under slitted eyelids.

"You know, Baldrick, you may have something there."

Baldrick straightened, grinning.

"Do I, my lord?"

Lord Blackadder sat up.

"My family's history does seem to be strewn with rotten luck. I mean, take this poor butler chap for example. Anyway, let's stop this for now. We've got more important things to worry about at the moment."

"Right, my lord. Oh, my lord?"

Lord Blackadder sighed.

"What did I just say, Baldrick?"

"I know, my lord, but I was just wondering."

There was a pause as Lord Blackadder waited for Baldrick to continue. When it became unquestionably clear that that had in fact been the end of Baldrick's sentence, Lord Blackadder groaned.

"And, what was it that you were wondering, Baldrick?"

"I was wondering, my lord, whether it was just me, or if anyone else here has noticed how closely the prince resembles that Lieutenant George we met in the trenches back in 1917."

"Yes, Baldrick, we've noticed. In fact, it was the first thing that struck me when we opened the door and saw him sitting up in his bed. The second thing that struck me was that he obviously had the same mental capacity as that idiotic Lieutenant, though I suppose that would have escaped your notice. Your brain, Baldrick, is so minute that if it were to be removed from your thick skull with a pair of tweezers then stuck to the far end of a super-powered observatory telescope, it would not even show up as a blot among the stars. Now, shut-up."

"Yes, my lord."

Edmund had gone out for a moment to fetch the prince's cloak and hat, but he had returned now and was helping the prince on with his things.

"When do you expect to be home, your highness?" the butler was asking.

"Oh, I couldn't say," the prince replied. "There's often a party of sorts afterwards, and that kind of thing can last until all hours. And," he added in a sly, confidential tone, "they usually invite girls. So, I'd say just go to bed and don't worry about greeting me at the door upon my return. I'll let myself in, what, and whomever I happen to bring back with me—if you know what I mean." He nudged Edmund in the ribs.

"Yes, your highness," Edmund answered, struggling to keep his expression from showing his annoyance at the unwelcome nudge. When it came to matters of a more delicate, romantic nature, the prince was as suave and charming as a twenty stone pig whose hobbies included wallowing in a mixture of mud and its own excrement and thrusting its entire head into large amounts of slop with a great deal of grunting and snorting. Edmund knew full well that the prince would not be likely to find any girl who would willingly come back to the palace with him. They would tease him and flirt with him at the party, no doubt, but that was as far as they would go. It really said something about a person's character when the wealth, power, and social stature held by the Prince Regent couldn't lure even the most ambitious young social climber into his palace-bound cab at the end of a wild party.

Before Edmund could reflect any more deeply on the subject, Baldrick tramped his way through the door to announce that the prince's cab had arrived. All present held their breath for a few moments after his entrance. The aroma left by the breeze of his passing trousers could cause eyebrows to wilt.

"The cab's arrived, sirs," Baldrick proclaimed.

"Have a pleasant time, your highness," Edmund told the prince cordially as he reached up to set his white, three-cornered hat jauntily upon his puffy, white-blonde wig.

"Oh, I will, Bladders, no worry about that. See you tomorrow then, what?"

"Yes, sir. And farewell."

"Toodle-pip, one and all!" the prince called with a jovial wave that included all present. Then, he turned on his heel and strode cheerily out the door, which Edmund was holding open for him. Edmund gave a slight bow as he passed through.

Once the prince had vanished and Edmund had returned the door to its former position, the time travelers expected the butler to return his attention to them and their problems. However, as it turned out, they were in for rather a nasty shock. Much to their surprise, and vast annoyance, for the next three minutes or so, Edmund behaved as if they were not there. They waited patiently while the butler had a few words with his servant in the vestibule that separated the prince's lounge from the outside exit, then watched as he strode right by them without even a glance, heading in a direct bee line for one of the several cabinets which lined the walls of the lounge. They observed with some confusion as Edmund took out a large armful of coarse, whitish sheets and started spreading them carefully over the furniture and carpets of the room. However, their confusion turned to anger when Baldrick reappeared in the doorway, this time holding several long-handled brushes that carried in their practical design the unmistakable air of being meant for use in chimneys. The professor shot to his feet in outrage.

"I demand to know the meaning of this, sir!," he cried. Edmund's only reply was to drape his recently deserted chair with a sheet. The professor was on the brink of turning purple.

"Again, I ask you, sir," he vociferated, his normally soft voice raising in pitch as it rose in volume, "what do you think you are doing?"

"I would have thought that my actions rather spoke for themselves," Edmund replied, bending down to straighten a corner of the sheet covering the carpet before the fireplace.

Now it was Lord Blackadder's turn to jump to his feet.

"You don't mean you expect us to actually clean the chimneys!"

Edmund took that opportunity to drape his chair with a sheet.

"Well, that is what it looks like, isn't it?"

Lord Blackadder laughed uneasily.

"Surely, this is all just a joke, right? I mean, you're planning to hire a few chimney sweeps, aren't you, and you're just setting all this out like this to make us think that you really expect us to do the sweeping. Is that it?"

Edmund paused for a moment to tip Baldrick's chair forward, spilling him unceremoniously onto the floor. The startled little man scrambled to his feet as Edmund hung his last sheet over his chair.

"Hey!" the sneakered man exclaimed. Edmund pretended not to notice Baldrick's ejaculation, turning his attention instead to Lord Blackadder.

"Unfortunately," he said, sounding, but not feeling, slightly apologetic, "the prince's finances at this time are in such a sorry state that we cannot, at the moment, afford to hire an actual chimney sweep. You see, the prince has recently been introduced, by several of his shrewder friends, to a particular form of card game known only as _Cards_ \- the object of which seems to be for him to hand over all his money to those he plays with, no matter the hand he is dealt. It is only through his graciously agreeing to play _Cards_ with me once in a while that I am able to scrape together enough money to pay the bills and just generally keep the household running. To tell you the truth, until you three came along I was going to have my servant, Baldrick, clean out the chimneys, but that was only as a last resort. It's amazing how even the simplest things are made impossibly complicated whenever Baldrick gets involved."

Lord Blackadder turned a glance to his own servant.

"I can sympathize with that," he said. "But, what makes you think we know anything about cleaning chimneys? Why, for all you know, chimneys no longer exist in the time period we come from. And besides, why should we subject ourselves to the indignity, the danger, and the filth of cleaning out your chimneys for you?"

Edmund made a subtle show of settling into his perfect posture, his feet positioned heel to toe and his hands clasped in front of him.

"I can think of several reasons," he said. "First of all, I have information that you require. It has cost me a great deal of time, effort, and no little monetary expense to locate and arrange said information, and as of right now, you three have done practically nothing in my eyes to deserve even a glimpse at it. Secondly, you stood me up all those years ago, and, sadly, the one flaw in my character is that I never forget a grudge. And, finally, as my descendants you owe me more respect than you have so far shown me. I am not _your_ servant. Also," he said, turning to the professor, "on the same note, if you want to address me, you are to call me Mr. Blackadder, not Edmund, my boy, or my lad. Our exceedingly short acquaintance is not enough, in my view, to put us on a first name basis. You seem to forget that I am the elder here by nearly two centuries. Who was it that said there was no respect in the younger generation anymore?"

The professor's color deepened noticeably.

"I thought you'd come to see it my way." Edmund gestured for his servant to enter further into the room. "Baldrick," he commanded, indicating Lord Blackadder and his uncle "give these two some brushes. You," he said, pointing to the sneakered Baldrick, "go down to the kitchen with Baldrick, here. You can assist him with his duties there."

"And, pray, what will you be doing while we risk our necks and the state of our clothing in this chimney, oh honorable ancestor?" the professor inquired bitterly.

Edmund drew himself up to his full height.

"I, my dear old descendent, shall supervise."

The professor sneered.

"I thought as much," he said, coldly. Then, taking off his brown jacket and slipping it under the sheet covering his former chair, the professor snatched a particularly long-handled brush from the waiting Baldrick and strode stiffly towards the fireplace. Lord Blackadder watched in something akin to horror. "Uncle!" he hissed, coming up alongside him. "You don't mean you're actually going to go along with this?"

"Look, Nephew," the professor hissed back. "I've been searching my whole life for answers to the myriad questions that litter the history of our family. The Blackadders have been highly influential all throughout the course of English history, except for the nearly three centuries that mark our strange and unexplained decline. It is only with you, apparently, that the family fortunes have been wholly restored, but even you must admit that the modern nobility is nothing like what it once was. There is no longer any real power behind the title."

"Yes? And your point?"

"My point, dear Nephew, is that with this time machine of yours we can change all that! Now, I know I was against it somewhat at the first, but the more I think it over, the better an idea it sounds. I want you to know I'm with you, Eddie, with you to the bitter end. But in order to achieve anything substantial in the way of change, we must have those questions answered! Who knows, Eddie, my boy! With the proper tweak at the proper time, why, you may even end up as a king! I mean a real king, not one of these figurehead monarchs we've got these days. What is a moment's indignity compared to that kind of power? Besides, how difficult can sweeping out one chimney possibly be?"

Lord Blackadder licked his lips, a warm gleam twinkling in his round eyes.

"Now you're speaking my language, Uncle! I must admit, I had my doubts about you, but now I think I'm glad to have brought you along."

He turned to the early nineteenth century Baldrick with the brushes.

"Hand me one of those brushes, Baldrick," he practically sang. "We've got some sweeping to do!"

* * *

Down in the kitchen, the early nineteenth century Baldrick turned to his late twentieth century counterpart with a broad grin.

"Well," he said, "this is an unusual state of affairs, ain't it?"

"It certainly is that," his descendent replied with a nod.

"So, what's it like in the future?"

"Well," Baldrick replied, screwing up his face and thinking really hard, "there are indoor toilets that flush your turds away into sewers or septic tanks automatically when you push a little lever. They've even got some new ones that can tell when you stand up. Those flush all by themselves while you're pulling up your trousers. You don't have to push any levers or anything with them."

His ancestor looked very impressed.

"I'd like to see one of those," he said. "I'd bet me father would like to see one of those as well."

Baldrick nodded.

"Yeah, they're very nice."

"What else can you tell me?"

"Well, we've got movies."

"What are those?"

"They're sort of like theater shows, only they're shown on a big screen."

Baldrick nodded.

"I've never been to the theater," he said, "but Mr. Blackadder goes all the time with the prince. He says it's a waste of time, but I've always sort of wanted to go."

His descendent looked sympathetic.

"Well, it's not exactly like the kind of theater show you get here. There aren't any live people on a stage."

Baldrick looked confused.

"I don't follow."

Baldrick tried to think how best to explain.

"Well, you see, these people with machines that can record moving images go around taking pictures of actors and things as they act, then all those pictures get put together with special effects, like fake explosions and made-up landscapes and things, and all that gets put on a little flat disk about the size of your hand called a DVD. When you put this DVD into a machine called a DVD player, you can watch those moving picture stories on a box-like thing called a television. Actually, now they've got some televisions that are sort of flat as well. Lord Blackadder was thinking of getting one. All you do is to turn them on, and watch the stories play out on them. It's kind of fun."

Baldrick's eyes had grown wide with wonder at his descendant's words.

"That's incredible!" he gasped. "Do the actors in these stories talk, or are they just a bunch of paintings?"

"No, not paintings, pictures! Like photographs."

"What are those?"

Baldrick realized the conversation was getting too complicated for him.

"Never mind. But the actors talk. They're in color too. There's music and everything. It's just like watching people in another room through a window, only it's not real. It's just an organized collection of pre-recorded images. At least, that's how my cousin, Burt Baldrick puts it. He's been an extra in several American movies, so he knows."

Baldrick raised his eyebrows.

"I've got an uncle named Burt Baldrick."

Baldrick grinned.

"Maybe they're related."

His ancestor nodded, thoughtfully. Then, he announced, in a rather wistful manner, "I wish that I could travel into the future. Do you think that if I asked, I could come along with you when you leave?"

Baldrick shook his head firmly.

"Not a chance. Lord Blackadder would never go for it. He's busy trying to make himself a king, you know."

"That's funny," said Baldrick, "because Mr. Blackadder's always trying to become a lord. He's painfully jealous of your Lord Blackadder, you know. That's why he's being so mean to him." He sighed. "They're never satisfied, are they?"

Baldrick shook his head.

"No, I suppose they aren't."

"Mr. Blackadder's been collecting books and things about when his family were rich, aristocratic nobles since he was just a boy. He's always reading through them. They usually put him in a bad mood."

Baldrick laughed.

"I thought these Blackadders were always in a bad mood!"

Baldrick laughed as well.

"Well, I suppose that's what comes of being unsatisfied with one's lot. He's always coming in, complaining about how he's wasted here. You know, I sometimes think that if the prince wasn't such a thick clot, Mr. B. would have left his service long ago. Then I would get to be butler. He actually left once, to become King of Sardinia."

"Really? What happened?"

"Nothing. He came back just in time to save me and the prince from being brutally murdered by a pair of insane actors. You see, he keeps thinking he can trick the prince into making him rich so he's never able to bring himself to actually leave. He told me in the foyer that that's why he hasn't stolen your time machine."

Baldrick nearly fell off his chair.

"You mean he was thinking about stealing our time machine?"

"Of course! But he thought better of it in the end." He shrugged. "Oh, well. Maybe it'll all pay off one day."

"Maybe," Baldrick replied. "Oh, speaking of Mr. Blackadder, what was it he wanted me to help you with down here?"

"Oh, right! You've just reminded me. Mr. B. told me that we're supposed to clean out the chimney down here, then, when that's done, we're to sweep all the soot out into the street, polish up all the tables, and get the tea ready. He expects you lot to be gone by supper." He noticed his descendent was staring at the fireplace. "There really are birds up there, you know," he said.

Baldrick looked interested. His ancestor went on. "Mr. B. said that since this place was so filthy anyway, there wasn't much we could do to make it any worse. So, I suppose we had better get started."

"Wait a moment," the twentieth century Baldrick piped up, his scruffy face bright with sudden inspiration.

"What is it?" his counterpart asked.

"I just thought of something."

"What?"

"Well, we're going to be down here working for some time, right?"

"It certainly looks like it."

"Then, what we need is some music to help the time go by faster."

Baldrick looked pensive.

"Ooh, but Mr. B. hates it when I start singing. He says my singing makes fighting alley cats sound like one of Mozart's symphonies."

Baldrick just looked at him.

"I didn't mean that we would sing. I meant we'd play some music."

"I don't know how! Anyway, how can you play music and work at the same time?"

"Here, look, it'll be quicker if I just showed you. I've got to pop back upstairs for a moment to fetch my bag from the time machine, but I promise I'll be right back."

Baldrick seemed uncomfortable with this.

"Well, all right. But, if you see Mr. B. don't let him know what you're up to. Tell him you needed a rag or something."

Baldrick grinned.

"Don't worry about me. I've been working for the Blackadders for most of my life. I think I should know how to handle them by now."

* * *

The prince's lounge was an absolute mess. Black soot was everywhere-in the air, on the walls, and all over the sheets that covered the furniture. Baldrick's eyes widened as he opened the doors and stepped inside. He looked around for a moment, trying to locate Lord Blackadder and the professor. He spotted them finally, but it took some effort to recognize them. The professor was standing in the fireplace. Only his legs were visible. Lord Blackadder was crouched beside him, looking up the chimney and pointing out patches of soot his uncle had missed. His uncle was yelling back at him, rather bad temperedly. Baldrick couldn't help but stare for a moment. Lord Blackadder's face, hands, and turtleneck were streaked with soot. His cropped hair was spiky, and he was sweating. Edmund was nowhere to be found.

Baldrick had never seen his employer in such a sorry state before. He was tempted to laugh, despite himself. However, he was able to resist the temptation and recall to mind the purpose of his mission. As unobtrusively as he could, Baldrick crept across the prince's lounge and entered his bedchamber, where the time machine was waiting. Carefully, he lowered the wooden door and sneaked up the ramp. His bag of things was right where he'd left it after its brief display in 1917. When he slung it over his shoulder, the things inside gave a slight chinkle, but there was no one near enough to notice.

He closed the door gently, then tip-toed through the soot-sprinkled lounge towards the doors that led to the vestibule and from there to the kitchen.

The professor had emerged from the fireplace by now, and he was in even a worse state than his nephew. His face, hands, and clothes were completely black, and he had apparently just gotten some soot in his eye. He was hopping around the room feeling frantically for something clean to wipe his eye with. He left dark, black footprints and hand smudges wherever he went. Lord Blackadder was still peering up the chimney from a crouching position, poking at it tentatively now and then with the brush. After three pokes, a huge cloud of black soot whooshed its way down the chimney, completely engulfing him. He fell over backwards in surprise, then crawled out of the cloud, coughing and sneezing.

Baldrick had to pretty much run the last few steps out of the room in order to have time to close the doors behind him before he burst into a fit of laughter that would have been entirely unappreciated by the two Blackadders on the other side.

* * *

Safely back in the kitchen, Baldrick plunked his load down on the cleared table and pulled open the drawstrings. His nineteenth century counterpart leaned eagerly over his shoulder.

"So, what is it?" he asked. "What have you got in there?"

Baldrick rummaged through the bag, removing the severely dented construction worker's hat, the anti-Tyrannosaurus Rex/shark stick, a worn pack of playing cards made up entirely of jokers, and a plastic comb with only three teeth. Finally, he reached the objects at the bottom. With a triumphant grin, he pulled from the bag a medium-sized wooden box. His counterpart seemed disappointed.

"It's just a box. What can it do?"

Baldrick's grin widened.

"Just wait," he said.

He reached back into the bag and pulled out five flat squares. They were made of some sort of shiny paper on which was painted the most realistic portraits the nineteenth century Baldrick had ever seen. He picked up the top one. The people in the portrait were dressed in very strange, very brightly colored clothes, and their hair was even shaggier than Baldrick's own. He put it down again with a slight shiver. It felt odd to actually touch something that hadn't been invented yet.

Lifting a hinged lid from the wooden box, the twentieth century Baldrick tilted one of the flat paper squares until a large, flat, black disk slid out of it. The disk's diameter was slightly less than the length of his arm. The other Baldrick caught a glimpse of the cover as it fell back onto the table. It had a portrait of four young men in strange suits that did not so much resemble as call to mind a reference to the suit the professor wore. Their hair was relatively short, hanging just over their ears, and styled in an interesting bowl shape. However, despite the similarity of their dress and hair, the four young men had clearly distinct and vibrant personalities that glowed through their uniform appearance.

"Is that one of them DVDs you was telling me about?," he asked his descendent in awe.

Baldrick shook his head.

"Naw. This thing's pretty old. Hardly anyone uses these anymore nowadays. They're called records. We've got CDs now. But, the problem is you've got to plug the CD player in, and you people in the past don't have any electricity."

His counterpart looked confused, but Baldrick was too wrapped up in his explanations to notice.

"Look, here's what you do," he said. "You put one of these records in this here box, like this-" he demonstrated as he spoke, "then, you turn this crank here to wind up the works inside, then you push this little arm with the needle on it out until it just touches the record, like so, and then the music comes out of this trumpet-thing here," he finished, as he screwed the trumpet-thing into place.

His intrigued ancestor leaned over to watch as the needle caught the spinning record's groove and started to vibrate, sending a subtle hissing noise up and out of the trumpet-thing's bell. Then, suddenly, without warning, the room was filled with a loud clang, the likes of which Baldrick had never heard before. He gave a visible start and hopped several steps backwards. The clang held in the air for several moments, then, all at once, the record broke into song. It was the voices of the four young men on the record's cover, singing in an peculiarly energetic, vibrant, yet somehow not unpleasant way about logs and dogs and something they called a hard day's night. He turned in wonder to his descendent, unable to voice his amazement in words. His descendent merely rubbed his hands together with a grin.

"Now, that's what I call working music. Come on, Balders. Let's get started!"

As they cleared off the table and placed sheets over the hearth and the furniture, taking special care to completely cover the corner of the kitchen which Edmund had marked off as his own, Baldrick turned to his descendent with a question.

"Baldrick," he said, "what instruments do they use to make this music? I've never heard an instrument that made these kinds of sounds before."

"Well, they use electric guitars mostly. Paul plays the bass guitar. He's left handed, so he has a special guitar. George is the lead guitar. In some songs, John plays the harmonica. Ringo is the drummer."

Baldrick nodded, unable to quite visualize the instruments, but feeling he almost understood.

"So, they're a kind of futuristic string quartet kind of thing?"

Baldrick screwed up his face.

"No…not really. They're a rock band. They called themselves the Beatles. They were madly popular during the 1960s"

Baldrick's eyes widened considerably.

"Wow! The 1960s! That's almost five hundred years from now!"

His counterpart wrinkled his forehead as he tried to calculate the true chronological separation between the two dates. Five hundred years sounded wrong somehow, but he couldn't quite find the flaw in the figuring.

Baldrick, who didn't notice his descendant's consternation, looked back at the record's cover with a chuckle.

"They do look rather like beetles, don't they, with their round haircuts and their funny black suits. But, why are they called a rock band? What have they to do with rocks?"

Baldrick's consternation vanished as the conversation moved back into the realm of what he knew.

"Because the kind of music they play is called rock and roll. It's supposed to be energetic and fun and make you want to dance. If you play it really loud, it makes the room shake. But they're not named after the little, black, crawly bug beetles. Their name is a play on words. You know that regular thumping in the music that sort of makes you want to tap your toes?"

"Yeah, I was noticing that. I sort of like it."

"Yeah, well, that's called the _beat_. So that's why they're called the _Beat_ les."

Baldrick looked enlightened.

"Oh, I get it! That's clever! You know an awful lot about this music, don't you?"

Baldrick nodded enthusiastically, straightening the final sheet.

"Oh, yes! I was one of their biggest fans when I was a kid. In fact, I even slept out in the street overnight with about a thousand other kids in order to get to be an extra in their first movie."

"Oh, yeah? What happened?"

"Well, they was supposed to turn up and smile and wave at us and things, then we was supposed to go forward and shake their hands. It was going to be the opening shot for the movie."

"Why, that's wonderful! Did it work out?"

"No, actually. As soon as I came forward, they took one look at me and started running. Well, I chased after them. Before I knew it, the whole crowd of kids had joined in. So there they were, the Beatles themselves, running for their lives while this whole hoard of crazed fans chased after them. One of them even fell down, but he wasn't hurt. I was disappointed I didn't get to shake their hands. I had been planning on asking for their autographs, too."

"That's too bad. I tried to get the autograph of one of my heroes once."

"Really? Who was it?"

"The Shadow. He was this famous highwayman. But, it turned out he was really a girl."

Baldrick grinned in amusement.

"No!"

Baldrick nodded.

"Yes! But, I never got her autograph. Mr. Blackadder turned her in to get the ten thousand pound reward. How did your experience turn out?"

"Well, it wasn't that bad, actually. You see, everyone liked the pictures they took of the Beatles running away so much that they decided to keep it in the movie. They ended up using that as the opening shot, playing this very song that's playing now as it went on. It's called _A Hard Day's Night_ , just like the movie."

"So, it wasn't a complete loss, then."

"No. That scene's really famous now." He turned to the gaping, empty fireplace. "So, what do we do now? I've never cleaned out a chimney before."

"Haven't you?" Baldrick came and stood next to him, peering critically up the chimney. "Well, to tell you the truth, neither have I. But, I've watched young Travers—he's our regular chimney sweep—I've watched him do it many times, so I think I can figure it out. The first thing we need is some brushes. I saved us the longest ones."

He went over to the corner and pulled out two extra long, extra wide chimney brushes.

"I thought we'd need them more than those fellows upstairs, because this chimney's so much bigger than that one."

Baldrick nodded.

"Makes sense."

"I thought so. So, here's yours." He handed him the shorter of the two. "And I'll take the longer one. I thought since you don't really work here that I should be the one to go in first and clean out all the serious soot before you had to go in and get your clothes dirty."

Baldrick smiled gratefully.

"Well! That's very considerate of you!"

Baldrick waved his gratitude away.

"Aw, don't mention it. Us Baldricks have got to stick together, don't we? So, I'll just step in here, then, shall I?"

"I suppose that's the standard procedure."

"Right, then. Here I go."

The nineteenth century Baldrick ducked into the fireplace, then straightened and looked up.

"Ooh! I can see that birds nest from here!"

Baldrick poked his head in to get a look.

"Where is it?"

His counterpart pointed with his brush.

"Up there. In that crevice."

Baldrick leaned in further and squinted.

"Oh, right! I see it! It's quite big, ain't it?"

The other Baldrick nodded.

"It is that. I wonder what kind of birds they are in there."

"Well, you can't really reach it without a ladder. Have you got one that will fit in here?"

Baldrick wrinkled his brow, trying to think.

"I think so. It should be in the garden out back. I'll just go fetch it, shall I?"

"Yeah, you do that," said Baldrick. "I'll stay here and make sure nothing happens while you're out."

"Right."

Baldrick leaned his brush against the inside of the wide chimney then ducked out of the fireplace and into the kitchen.

"I'll be right back," he said.

"OK," said Baldrick.

He watched as his ancestor stumped artlessly out the door, then sat heavily in a sheet-covered chair. The record was now playing _I Should Have Known Better._ Baldrick was really starting to get into the song, when a rather loud "Ah hem!" broke his concentration. He gave a visible start.

"What's all this, then!" an all-too-familiar voice demanded.

Baldrick stood and turned, guiltily. When he'd gone approximately one hundred eighty degrees from his starting position, he saw that it was the butler, Mr. Blackadder, who had addressed him, not his employer. His guilt vanished as if it had never been.

"Oh, well, I was just waiting for your Baldrick to come back from the garden with a ladder," he explained. "We needed a ladder, you see, to reach the birds nest, because—"

"Look, I'm not interested in your pathetic excuses for why you haven't even started working yet. I was referring, in fact, to this very loud, noise-producing box you've got on the table!" He pointed stiffly towards the antique record player.

Baldrick drew himself up, deeply insulted.

"This is not noise!" he shouted back. "This is great music! These are some of the most famous songs ever written by the greatest band who ever lived!"

"Is that so?" said Edmund, clearly unimpressed with the unfamiliar sounds assaulting his eardrums.

"It most certainly is!" Baldrick retorted.

"And, who gave you permission to put one of your bizarre, futuristic devices into use? What is it, anyway?"

"This here thing is an old, antique record player. I brought it along with me because you don't have to plug it in to make it play music. And, I don't need permission to listen to music. Not yours, anyway, Mr. Blackadder. I'm not _your_ servant, sir." Edmund stiffened at the familiar words. "Besides," Baldrick continued, "I'm sure Lord Blackadder wouldn't mind my listening to the Beatles down here. He likes them too. And, I always have the radio on when I'm working back home."

"I would have given five pounds to have understood three words of that so-called explanation you just gave. But, it doesn't matter anyway. Make it stop. Your companions are coming down here in a few minutes, once they've finished shaking out the sheets outside and washing their faces. I have something of great importance to show them. I had hoped you two would have finished down here by now, but I rather expected I would find you loafing about."

Baldrick looked angry, but he didn't say anything because at that moment, the song ended. A slightly staticky silence followed. Edmund peered at the machine, confused.

"What just happened?" he asked.

"The song's done. This side of the record is finished. There's more on the other side if you'd care to listen."

Edmund peered in closer.

"You mean, it just stops by itself?"

"Yeah. It's started to wind down now, anyway. If we were to play another song without cranking it up some more, it would sound all deep and slow."

Edmund looked at him as if he were speaking in Greek.

"What was that?"

"Here, look," Baldrick said, stepping between him and the record player. "I'll demonstrate."

He moved the needle to the middle of the record and set it down gently. Odd, deep noises that sounded like "Woooah, woop, wouuuugh, wough," emanated from the trumpet-like device. Edmund stared at the record player as if it had just sprouted vermilion tentacles with vibrant green blotches and wrapped them around the cloth-covered table without warning. Baldrick found his expression so funny that he couldn't help himself. He pressed both hands to keep them in, but his chuckles managed to escape him anyway. Edmund turned his strange look from the moaning record player to him, then back to the record player. He allowed himself a small smile of his own.

"It does sound rather, erm, different, doesn't it?," he said, defrosting a little bit.

Baldrick removed his hands from his mouth in order to nod, but instead his suppressed laughter burst out in a surprisingly loud guffaw.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Blackadder, sir, it certainly does!," he gasped.

"Wooooooooph," went the record, deeply. "Woooomp, woooooooogh."

Edmund's smile broadened against his will. Before he knew it, he had let out a small snicker. This only served to make Baldrick laugh harder. Though he tried his absolute hardest to hold it back, Edmund soon found himself laughing nearly as loudly as his servant's distant descendant despite himself.

"Wooooooooooooommmmmmppppphhhhhhhhhhhh," the record groaned, sounding as if it were in the middle of its death throes. "Ooooooooooooommmmmmm—mmmmmmmmmllllllllllllllllaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh."

At that moment, the other Baldrick came tramping back into the room, lugging a tall, thin, wooden ladder in after himself. He stopped short at the sight of his master laughing openly with the Baldrick from the twentieth century. To his surprise, he felt a sudden wave of jealousy. Mr. B. never laughed with _him_. He stumped forward, dropping the ladder on the stone floor with a wooden clack.

"What's going on in here?" he asked. "Mr. Blackadder, sir, are you all right?"

Edmund caught sight of his own Baldrick and his eyes widened. He struggled to regain control over himself.

"Oh, hullo, Baldrick," he gasped, rather out of breath from all that laughing. "I'm fine. Just fine. Baldrick, here, was just showing me how this strange machine from the future works. Apparently, it's winding down at the moment. That's why it's making these strange noises."

Baldrick stretched his ears, trying to listen for any strange noises.

"I don't hear any strange noises, sir," he said.

Edmund stiffened with embarrassment as he realized his servant was right. The obvious absence of strange noises in the kitchen was glaring.

"Well," he said, trying to save face, "that's because the record's just stopped turning. It was making some pretty odd sounds a moment ago, though, wasn't it, Baldrick?" He turned to Lord Blackadder's servant, who was still trying to get his breath back.

"Yes, Mr. Blackadder, yes it was!"

"Oh," said Baldrick, feeling a bit pouty. "Well, I got the ladder, anyway."

"Oh, good," said Edmund. "Then, you can start on the chimney here while I show these time travelers the information they've worked so hard for."

"Right," said Baldrick. "I'll get to it right away, Mr. Blackadder." He stomped glumly back to the ladder and pulled it after him towards the fireplace.

"Want me to lend a hand?" Baldrick offered.

"No, thanks," Baldrick muttered. "I've got it."

Baldrick shrugged.

"OK," he said. "I'll be out here if you need me."

Baldrick's voice was muffled inside the chimney, but his reply sounded something like, "I can handle a few birds."

Baldrick looked up at Edmund, confused.

"Did I say something wrong?"

Edmund seemed surprised at the question.

"What? Oh, no. He's just in some kind of mood, that's all. I wouldn't take it too seriously if I were you."

Baldrick nodded.

"OK," he said. "Oh, Mr. Blackadder?"

"Yes?"

"I've been meaning to ask."

Edmund waited for him to go on, then, when he didn't, he looked exasperated.

"You've been meaning to ask what?"

"Well, I've been meaning to ask whether Baldrick has ever changed his trousers."

"What?"

"Well, it's just that until just a little while ago, I had never changed my underpants. Now, I had thought that they were whiffy, but Baldrick's trousers are a whole new level of stink that I have never encountered before. So, naturally, I couldn't help but wonder how he managed it."

Edmund raised an eyebrow.

"Looking for some tips, eh? Well, Baldrick, to tell you the truth, Baldrick has never changed his trousers. In fact, I'm told they were passed down to him from his father, whose job it is to clean the horse dung from the cobblestones. I believe Baldrick was wearing them when we first met, nearly thirty years ago." His eyes widened with a sudden, unpleasant realization. "Oh, God! I've been stuck with him for thirty years. That's not a pleasant thought!" He looked pained, shook his head, then continued. "Anyway, he's since grown into them. So, that means they've got two generations of Baldrick family stink imbedded in their fibers. And I must say, that is not a pleasant thought either. Does that answer your question?"

Baldrick nodded.

"Yes, Mr. Blackadder. Thank you."

* * *

Lord Blackadder stood in front of the small mirror and stuck his tongue out as far as it would go, trying to make sure he'd gotten all the soot out of his mouth. His uncle stood beside him, dunking his head into the metal basin filled with cold water and scrubbing at his hair with his fingernails.

"This stuff is absolutely disgusting," Lord Blackadder complained, rinsing his mouth out with water from the mug beside him and spitting it out into his own basin. The water in his basin was completely black. "I don't know how many times I've dunked my head and washed my mouth out, but I still feel filthy! What I wouldn't give for a hot shower, some real soap that actually works up a lather, and a toothbrush!" He flicked the lump of grayish, homemade soap they'd been given, causing it to spin in place. "I don't even want to know what this is made of."

His uncle lifted his head out of his basin and shook it. Great globules of sooty water loosened themselves from his salt-and-pepper hair and splatted onto the mirror. They left dark, sooty streaks as they slid down to the table the mirror, basins, soap, and mugs were sitting on.

"I don't see what you're complaining about, Nephew," his uncle said, rather bitterly. "You didn't even go in the blasted chimney."

"You said yourself it wouldn't do to get my shoes too dirty," Lord Blackadder retorted. "Do you have any idea how much they cost? Besides, you were the one who wanted us to go along with that fool butler's stupid plan, not me. I could probably have found a way to get us out of it, but you wouldn't even give me the chance to try." He lifted his velveteen dinner jacket from the stool where it was lying and sighed. "And, look," he said, "my best dinner jacket is all creased and wrinkled."

His uncle rubbed at his face with a (hopefully) clean rag.

"Well, it's no good complaining about it now, is it? We've cleaned out his foul chimney. He's gotten back at us for messing up the dates. Now he must give us that information. He's bound to. He spat and shook on it back in 1778, remember?"

Lord Blackadder rolled his eyes.

"Yes, well, all I've got to say is his information had better be phenomenally good." He took up his own rag and started scrubbing at his ears. Suddenly, he burst into a coughing fit. When it had ended, he paused and turned to his uncle.

"Uncle," he said.

"Yes, what is it?," his uncle asked from behind his rag.

"You can't get that—whatever it is miners get—Black Lung Disease or something like that—by breathing in as much soot as we did just now, can you?"

The professor stopped his scrubbing and looked thoughtful.

"No, I don't think so," he said. "At least, not unless you've got amazingly sensitive lungs. I've heard it takes them years of breathing in coal dust to develop that condition. I think we're quite safe."

"Well, that's good to hear," said Lord Blackadder. "Because otherwise I think I would have killed that butler for making us go through that. That was a very dirty trick he played on us." He coughed again, then spat into his mug. The phlegm had little black specks in it. He dumped it into his basin with a grimace. "Oh, God," he groaned. "Now I'm going to be hacking up soot for days!"

The professor shook his head, then rinsed out his own mouth. Lord Blackadder turned back to the mirror and stuck his tongue out again.

"Like I said before," he stated grimly, smoothing down his dripping mustache and trying to shake the wrinkles from his dinner jacket, "that information of his had better be phenomenally good."

"I'm sure it will be. Have you finished with your basin, Nephew?"

Lord Blackadder shot a thoroughly disgusted glance at the black water with the speckled phlegm floating in it, then gave his uncle a short nod.

"Yes, yes, I'm done." He worked the muscles of his lips, raising a hand to feel his chin. "I think my beard's gone stiff," he observed.

"Oh, stop your complaining, Eddie, and let's get going. We're just wasting time here, you know."

He turned to leave the little room. Lord Blackadder followed gloomily behind.

"How can you waste time when you've got a time machine?" he muttered to himself.

"Well," his uncle replied, "I don't know about you, but at the present I'm not getting any younger, time machine or no. Come on!"

* * *

The first thing Lord Blackadder noticed as he started down the kitchen stairs was that there was an antique record player sitting on the long table in the center of the room. The second thing he noticed was that five records were lying out beside it. He turned an utterly bewildered look on his servant as he reached floor level.

"Baldrick, what on earth are these things doing here?" he asked.

Baldrick looked slightly uncomfortable.

"Well, my lord," he said, "I thought it would be nice if me and Baldrick had some music to listen to while we worked."

"No, no, no! I mean, where did these things come from? We didn't bring them, surely!"

"Yes we did, my lord," said Baldrick. "I packed them into the bag, along with the stick and the electric torch in the shape of a pen and the construction worker's hat with the huge dent in it and a few other things."

Lord Blackadder picked up his records and started flipping through them.

"Three Beatles records, a set of Beethoven's fifth, sixth, seventh, and ninth symphonies, and Andrew Lloyd Webber's _The Phantom of the Opera_?"

Baldrick shrugged.

"I picked a few at random from that huge pile you've got in the basement."

Lord Blackadder wrinkled his brow.

"You know, I'd completely forgotten I had these," he said, peering at them critically. "And they're in good condition, too. They must be worth something by now."

"Look," Edmund interrupted, "as fascinating as this conversation is, I thought you three came here to get some information."

"Quite right," said the professor. "So we did. May I ask where it is?"

"You may, indeed. Gentlemen," he announced, striding over to a sheet-covered bookshelf that stood behind his desk in his personal corner of the kitchen, "I present to you," he pulled the sheet from the bookshelf with a theatrical flourish, "my library."

The time travelers moved in closer to get a better look at the small collection of books that stood in the bookshelf. They were of all shapes and sizes. Some of them seemed practically new, while others looked as ancient and crumbly as the Dead Sea Scrolls. The professor's round, brown eyes lit up like twin candles as he lifted a smallish, yellowish, leather-bound book from the second shelf.

"Look at this!" he breathed reverently.

"What is it?" asked Lord Blackadder.

"It's the actual diary of Lord Edmund Blackadder himself!"

Lord Edmund Blackadder raised his eyebrows.

"Oh? Which one?"

The professor shot him a look.

"The one who was so influential at the court of Queen Elizabeth I. The one who discovered the boomerang. The one who died under mysterious circumstances that no one at the time or since that time has been able to explain. And this is his own diary, in his own bold hand!" He opened the little book reverently and started gently flipping through the pages.

Lord Blackadder took another look at the small library, then turned to Edmund.

"I must say, this is very impressive and everything, but you surely don't expect us to sit here and read through them all. I mean, it would take us days!"

Edmund looked smug.

"I realize that."

"Then, what good are all these books? We can't stay here long enough to read them all! We're on a schedule."

Baldrick looked confused.

"We are?"

"Shut-up, Baldrick."

Baldrick shrugged. Edmund allowed himself a small, close-lipped grin.

"I have foreseen your complaints and have taken certain measures to make things easier for you."

"You have?"

"Yes. If you will just look here," he pulled out a thick, paper manuscript tied up with string, "you will see that I have written up some notes. They were originally for my own convenience and edification, but they should serve your purposes. These notes summarize each of these books in chronological order, the oldest one being first, and contain transcripts of the more interesting parts. You are free to take it with you on your travels for, you see, I have a copy, as well as the original books." He gestured to a second string-bound manuscript.

"Why's that, if you weren't expecting us?" asked the professor.

Edmund sucked in his cheeks.

"Let's just say that I've had a bad experience with manuscripts which has led me to become a firm believer in the old adage, better safe than sorry."

"What kind of experience?" asked Baldrick, innocently.

Edmund glared at him with smouldering eyes.

"I'd rather not go into that at the moment. Let's just say it involved the Baldrick who is, at present, in the chimney, a fire, and the shattering loss of seven years of excruciating labor at the very moment it was going to pay off with untold riches and everlasting fame."

Baldrick shrugged.

"OK."

"Well," said the professor, kindly changing the subject, "We really must thank you. This manuscript of yours is more than we could have hoped for."

He held out his slightly trembling hands, and Edmund placed the manuscript into them.

"Well, then, the promise I made you is finally fulfilled. I suppose all that's left is for me to wish you luck with your travels, whenever they may take you."

"Thank you," the three time travelers chorused.

"Would you three like some tea before you go?" Edmund asked politely. "It is nearly six o'clock, I believe."

"We wouldn't want to put you to any more trouble," smiled the professor, obviously eager to get back to the time machine now he had his information.

"Besides," added Baldrick, "Baldrick's in the chimney right now, so we can't light a fire to boil the water on."

Edmund raised his eyebrows.

"Can't we?"

Just then, there was a terrific squawking noise and a rush of flapping wings. A muffled voice, the same as that which had squawked, was heard shouting something unintelligible at the top of its lungs, then there was a loud clatter as Baldrick descended the ladder as quickly as his legs would take him. He ducked out of the fireplace and stood on the hearth, breathing heavily.

All present simply stared at him. He really was quite a sight. His face, hair, and hands were black with soot, as were his clothes. However, this only served to offset the bright, white splotches that adorned his hair, his shoulders, his arms, and his shoes. Gasping and panting, he managed to squeeze out one word.

"Pigeons!" he cried.

Edmund was struggling with the effort of not smiling.

"Baldrick," he said with some difficulty.

"Yes, sir?" Baldrick wheezed.

"I believe today is one of those special occasions we've agreed upon. Tonight, Balders, you bathe."

"You know, Mr. B.," said Baldrick, looking himself up and down, "for once, I agree with you."

Lord Blackadder caught his uncle's eye, recalling the sorry state they had been in after their adventure with the upstairs chimney. A moment later, they had both broken into gales of laughter. It took a few moments longer, but soon the two Baldricks joined in as well. Even Edmund allowed himself a discrete snicker. It was several minutes before they had sobered enough to say their farewells and take their leave.

* * *

The next morning, Baldrick was trying to fish half an eggshell out of a bowl of beaten eggs with the other half of the eggshell when Edmund came striding into the kitchen. As he entered, Baldrick turned to him with a question on his face.

"I must confess, Mr. B.," he said, "I'm somewhat confused."

"I know that, Baldrick. It is a subject upon which I have often commented."

"No, no I don't mean that," said Baldrick

"Then say what you mean," Edmund said, impatiently. "And make it quick. I haven't got all day, you know."

Baldrick nodded, giving up on the eggshell and pouring the entire mixture into a pan.

"Well, those time travelers were here for quite some time."

"Yes," said Edmund, unsure where Baldrick was going with this.

"And in all that time, they were away from their time machine."

"So?"

"Well, I was wondering why you didn't just, you know, sort-of take their time machine and go back in time to somewhen where you could be rich and powerful and everything. That explanation you gave yesterday in the vestibibble didn't completely make sense, sir."

Edmund nodded.

"Really? I had thought I'd made myself clear enough, but it seems I've overestimated you once again. If I am to become rich and powerful, I would like to be so in a time period in which I am comfortable. Living conditions, even in the recent past, were appalling, and the people were absolute barbarians—always running about in armor and fighting among themselves. I much prefer it here, in warm, well-furnished palaces like this one. I think I'd rather go on manipulating Prince Fat-head than try my luck mucking about in the past. All the effort I've put into him will have to pay off someday. I'm not quite ready to give up yet. Baldrick," he added, reaching for his hat and cloak, "I'm going out for a paper and a spot of that brown-tinted hot water that passes for coffee at Mrs. Miggin's coffee shop. If my mad cousin, McAdder should pop around here for any reason, tell him I'm out and you've no idea when I'll be back."

Baldrick set the pan over the fire and stirred the eggshell mixture with a wooden spoon.

"What makes you think your cousin will be coming here?"

"He sent a letter a month or so ago saying he was unsatisfied with the current political situation and was thinking of organizing a rebellion. I never sent a reply, so if he did decide to come down from Scotland, he'd likely stop by here to deliver another letter personally. So, if he does, tell him I'm out."

Baldrick nodded.

"All right then, Mr. B. And, I agree with you about the time machine. You don't need to mess about with the past to change the future. All you need do is make the right choices in the present. The future's unpredictable no matter what you do, anyway." He smiled. "Who knows, maybe by tonight you'll be next in line to be the King of all England."

"A pleasant fantasy, Baldrick. Unfortunately, it has as much chance of coming true as a walrus has of coming in first at a horse race."

Baldrick shrugged.

"Well, anything's possible."

"Except for the possibility of your developing a sharper intellect. Farewell, Baldrick. I should be back in about two hours. Remember what I said about my cousin, McAdder."

"I'm to tell him you're out and I've no idea when you'll be back."

"Right. And, don't forget!"

With that, he straightened his hat and left. Baldrick sniffed the air, suddenly aware of the sharp smell of burning. Remembering his eggs, he rushed over to the fireplace and snatched the pan from the fire. The eggs were slightly scorched, but they weren't that bad. He scraped the lumpy mixture onto a plate and sat down to eat. He reflected as he chewed that the eggshell added just the right amount of crunch to make up for the burnt flavor.

To Be Continued...


	6. Chapter 5

**#5: 1592 A.D. The Wrath of Shorty-Greasy-Spot-Spot**

 **involving:**

 **some hot gypsies, an ancient grudge, mass carnage, and a narrow escape**

Lord Edmund BlackAdder stood in the street before his front door and sighed, deeply. He really wasn't in the mood to deal with the day to day goings on of his household. He really didn't want to hear about Percy's new love interest or look at him dressed in one of his daft new fashions or deal with Baldrick's insane new method for catching mice or beetles or spiders or whatever other revolting species of vermin he'd decided to eat for dinner that night. He didn't want to be on hand just in case a messenger arrived from the Queen ordering him to her presence at once. He'd been having rather a bad morning so far, and he wanted some time to himself. So, he didn't open his front door and enter his house. Instead, he sneaked around the back to his garden. He would spend the rest of the day strolling, fishing, and hunting. Then, perhaps, he would be ready to deal with the mad occurrences that made up his every day life.

The garden was really quite lovely in mid-summer. The breeze was fragrant with the sweet scent of flowers and warm grass. Edmund closed his eyes and breathed in deeply through his nose. He felt the muscles of his neck and shoulders loosen. He let his mind wander. There was nothing here that could disturb him. Nothing here that could annoy him. The birds were twittering in the trees overhead. The water tinkled in the fountain at the end of the path. Someone was singing a rather pleasant melody in a high pitched voice somewhere up ahead.

Edmund froze. His eyes shot open. Somebody was singing. There was an intruder in his garden. Every vestige of relaxation left him. He strode purposefully forward down the path towards the fountain. He was going to have to put up a no trespassing sign, he thought bitterly to himself. He would post guards. Maybe get a couple of fierce, bloodthirsty watch dogs. Anything to keep unwelcome intruders off his land.

His stride slowed to a walk as he passed the hedge, getting a clear view of the fountain. There wasn't just one person there. There were about seventeen. They were milling about on his grounds and splashing about in his fountain. From their style of dress and the pronounced accent in their speech, it was clear that these trespassers were a troop of Gypsies. Edmund felt his throat tighten. He'd see about this.

"Right! You! Gypsies! Off my land, right now! This is private property and you are all trespassing."

The short, singing man in the ragged, baggy cloak nearly dropped his instrument. The rest of the troop turned to him in surprise. A tallish, middle aged man with a large, gold earring stepped forward a little ways.

"Please, excuse us, Lord—" he trailed off, obviously unfamiliar with Edmund's name.

"BlackAdder," Edmund supplied shortly. "And don't you 'please excuse us' me. I want the lot of you off my land this instant, or else I shall call my servants and have you jolly well thrown off."

"But, my lord," said a rather tall, bony young girl with a large nose and shoulder-length raven curls. "The day was so hot. We saw your fountain and thought you wouldn't mind if we took the opportunity to cool off."

Edmund glared at her.

"Well, I do mind. I mind a great deal, in fact. This is my land, for my personal use and enjoyment. I ask you, how can I enjoy it with a lot of dirty, ragged trespassers cluttering up the scenery?"

The gypsies looked insulted. Another young girl stepped forward. This one was shorter than the other, and rather plump. They seemed to be sisters.

"Please, my lord," she smiled, showing slightly crooked teeth, "if you'll let us stay but a while longer we would be pleased to entertain you with some sprightly song and dance. Perhaps, this would please you and serve in some way as a repayment for our use of your lands?"

Edmund sighed deeply.

"You're Welsh gypsies, aren't you?," he asked.

They nodded.

"How did you know, sir?," the plump girl asked.

Edmund rolled his eyes.

"Because of the simple fact that most English gypsies are horse traders. You're a gypsy, don't you know these things?"

The girl looked abashed.

Edmund sighed again.

"Look," he said. "I came here to be alone. I've been having a very bad morning so far. I do not wish to be entertained. I do not wish to be pleased. I wish to be left alone, by myself, solitary. Do you understand? Now get out!"

The gypsies drew themselves up, muttering among themselves in hushed, scandalized tones.

"Very well, sir," the older man said. "We shall leave you alone. Come, my friends. We are going."

With some grumbling and muttering, the troupe of gypsies turned to go. One of them went behind a hedge and led out a bony, old horse drawing a brightly painted cart. Just before they set off, the little gypsy who had been singing brightened, as if sudden inspiration had struck him. He started strumming his instrument thoughtfully, humming as he walked absently behind the others. Then, he stopped and turned around. A small, strange grin tweaked at the corners of his mouth.

"Before I too take my leave of you, my lord," he said in a sly, rather nasal voice, "perhaps you should like to know something concerning your immediate future? For I am a skilled fortune teller. I need not even glance at your palm to tell you a momentous occurance lies directly in your path."

Lord BlackAdder's glare took on a deadly glint.

"The only thing directly in my path at this moment is you. And I would advise you to take yourself out of it if you value your life!" He strode forward, one hand resting omniously on the hilt of his sword.

The little man raised his hands in mock surrender.

"Very well, my lord," he said. "I shall take my leave of you. But never let it be said that you were not forewarned. Farewell, Lord BlackAdder!" he cried with a low, marrionette-like bow. "Fare well, for as long as you fare. And you will not fare long, I declare!" He backed away, an over-wide grin on his face, then turned with a flourish of his instrument and and took up his place following after the others, humming to himself.

Lord BlackAdder watched as the cloaked, ragged man started leaping and skipping, cavorting to the tune he had just thought up. An instant before he was out of sight, he turned back to Lord BlackAdder with that same, strange, gleeful grin, then skipped off. Lord BlackAdder shivered.

"And stay out!" he shouted after him.

He shook his head. That singer was a strange one. That grin of his had frankly given him the creeps, to say nothing of his message. Well, at least now he could be alone.

Edmund chose the path leading to the stone bridge and started strolling, trying to recapture the feel of his first few moments here, before he'd been disturbed by those hot gypsies. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind. He had almost succeeded in relaxing again when a loud shout jarred him back into his customary sour mood. He turned slowly on his booted heel, a prize-worthy glare cooking up in his cold, brown eyes, just waiting for a victim to be shot at.

Lord Percy Percy was running up the path, a tall, burnt-orange blot on the landscape.

Edmund groaned and started walking again. Percy was the last person on earth he wished to see at the moment, with the possible exception of his servant, Baldrick. He quickened his pace.

"Edmund!" Percy called.

Edmund ignored him.

"Edmund!" Percy called again.

Edmund pretended not to have heard him, turning his attention to a lichen-covered tree trunk he was currently passing.

"Edmund!"

Percy jumped in front of him and stood there, panting.

Edmund walked around him as if he wasn't there.

Percy looked confused for a moment, then turned around and caught up with him.

"Edmund," he said, grinning.

"Go away, Percy," Edmund snapped. "Can't you see I want to be alone?"

"Yes, I thought you might," said Percy, his grin broadening. "That's why I came out here."

Edmund wrinkled his brow.

"What?"

"Yes," said Percy. "I thought you might want to be alone, so I came out here to keep you company."

Edmund stopped in his tracks.

"Percy, if you had even half a brain, you would realize how ridiculous you sound. Now go away and leave me alone."

"But, Edmund," Percy went on. "I've just heard what happened. I want you to know I'm very sorry. I know what it's like to be rejected by the woman you love."

Edmund stiffened.

"That is not what happened!" he exclaimed. "Jane and I simply realized that we are not suited for one another. It was a mutual understanding we both arrived at simultaneously. To tell you the truth, it's a great relief to me not to have to worry about remembering the date of her mother's birthday or having to stand idly by while she spends three hours with the shoemaker specifying exactly how many stitches she wants in the toe of her left shoe, or whatever it is she does in that blasted shoe shop. It's a mystery to me how these women manage to spend so much time in there. And don't even get me started on how long she spends at the milliner's!"

Percy nodded sympathetically.

"I'm glad it's over between us," Edmund went on. "There's plenty more fish in the sea. Besides, it was starting to get to me, you know, being tied to one girl all the time. It's good to be free again."

Percy was still nodding.

"Yes, quite."

Edmund straightened with a short nod.

"Good. Now that's understood, will you go away? I've been thinking I might want to kill myself, and I really wouldn't appreciate any spectators."

Percy looked fragile.

"You mean, you really want me to go?"

Edmund rolled his eyes.

"No, I'm just telling you to leave because I enjoy listening to the sound of my own voice."

Percy grinned in relief.

"Oh, well, if that's all."

Edmund looked at him in disbelief.

"I simply can't believe it," he said. "Just how thick are you?"

Percy looked thoughtful.

Edmund waved his hand. "No, no, never mind, never mind!" He sighed very deeply. "I'm just not going to be able to be alone today, am I?" He turned his gaze to the blue sky and raised his arms. "All right!" he exclaimed. "I give up!" He turned to Percy. "Come on, Perce, let's go into the house. It's beastly hot out here."

"Oh, good idea, Edmund!" Percy grinned. "Baldrick's been making some lemonade."

Edmund felt queasy. Knowing Baldrick, the term _lemonade_ could mean anything from the actual juice of real lemons with real sugar mixed in to three day old urine from the chamber pot in the corridor. Edmund reflected that the urine option was the more likely.

"Sounds delightful," he said through his teeth. "Let's go."

They walked together a few feet towards the house. Then, Lord BlackAdder came to a sudden stop.

"Wait a moment."

Percy stopped and turned.

Edmund wrinkled his brow.

"Percy, how did you know Lady Pottle and I had broken our engagement?"

Percy let out a short snort.

"I thought everyone knew by now, Edmund. The gossip's all over town."

"But how is that possible?" asked Edmund, more than slightly upset. "She only just let me know two hours ago!"

"Well," said Percy, "this kind of news travels fast. People like to hear about the goings on among the aristocracy, particularly when it comes to the real juicy, romantic stuff. There are spies everywhere."

"Oh, yes?" Edmund turned away and kicked a stone violently down the path. "Don't people have anything better to do than gossip about us rich folks?" he exclaimed angrily. "Wherever you go, everyone's always chattering on about who's marrying who, who did what stupid thing at a party last week, who spilled crème custard down who's dress at the last royal banquet. They'll be hiring people to paint false portraits of us in compromising situations and plastering them on the covers of cheap publications next. What do these spies do, anyway? Lurk in the bushes and take notes while two people are having extremely personal conversations?"

"I wouldn't know," said Percy. "I've never actually seen one. But I know I've been watched, though, because everyone seems to know about the time I lost my right shoe and had to walk around all day with a bucket on my foot, and I know I never told anybody."

Edmund rolled his eyes.

"Percy, you came to the Queen's birthday ball wearing that idiotic bucket. Of course everyone knew about it. Everyone there saw it! And heard it. And tripped over it when you did that kick at the end of the dance and it went flying across the room."

Percy blinked.

"Oh. Well, I suppose that could explain it."

Just then, there was a rustle in the bushes beside them. Lord BlackAdder looked at Percy, then strode over to peer through the dense, green leaves.

"Ah ha!" he exclaimed, reaching in and hauling out a thin man in camouflaged clothing with leaves stuck in his cap. "You're one of these gossip spies, aren't you?" Edmund snapped. "One of these foul, prying spies!"

The man looked shaken.

"Well, I wouldn't exactly say _spy_ , your lordship, more like _observer_."

"Oh yes? Well, observe this!" Lord BlackAdder drew back his booted foot, then thrust it upwards until it connected sharply with the observer's backside. The man let out a short howl.

"And if I ever catch you or any of your compatriots lurking in my bushes ever again, you'll be getting far worse than a sharp kick in the pants, I can tell you. Now get lost, and don't come back!"

The man ran as if for dear life, leaving a small bundle of papers, a rather rumpled quill pen, and a small bottle of ink behind him.

"These gossip spies really are getting out of control," Percy commented. "I, for one, think something should be done."

Edmund sighed very deeply.

"Oh, never mind."

He sighed again. Perhaps if he locked himself in his bedroom he could get a few seconds to himself.

"Come on, let's go back to the house." He started back down the path, making sure to wipe his rather muddy boots on the spy's abandoned papers as he went.

Edmund and Percy entered the house through the side door. Edmund strode over to the row of hooks against the wall there and hung his black, feathered hat on the center one. Then, he marched down the corridor towards the adjoining corridor that led to his sitting room, Percy following close behind. They hadn't gone four paces, though, before a loud banging assaulted their ears. Edmund turned to Percy.

"What the devil is that?" he demanded, annoyed.

"I don't know," said Percy, concerned. "Maybe there's somebody at the door."

"What are they trying to do?" Edmund asked. "Break it down?"

Percy shrugged.

Edmund sighed. He should never have come home.

"Well, we'll soon find out." He took a deep breath, then shouted, "Baldrick!"

The banging stopped, only to be replaced with muffled shouts.

Edmund strummed his fingers impatiently against his leg, then called again: "Baldrick!"

The muffled shouts got louder. There was no sign of Baldrick.

Edmund groaned.

"Where can that moronic dungball be?" he complained. "He's absolutely useless. I have to do everything myself around here."

He stomped down the small corridor until it joined up with the main corridor of the house. Then, he stopped short.

"Percy," he said.

Percy came forward.

"Yes? What is it, Edmund?"

"Percy, did you by any chance order an enormous, wooden box recently?"

Percy wrinkled his brow.

"No. Why?"

"Because there's an enormous, wooden box standing in the corridor in front of the door to Baldrick's room. It's completely blocking the front door."

Percy raised his eyebrows, then leaned forward to get a look.

"Why," he said, "so there is! What do you know!"

"What I want to know is what it is doing there," said Edmund. "And how it got in. It's wider than the door."

Percy nodded.

"Why, so it is. That's strange."

"It is indeed." He tried to call for his servant one more time. "Baldrick!"

"I'm in here, my lord!" came a small, muffled voice from the far end of the corridor. "There's something blocking my doorway, though! I opened my door, but there's this big wooden wall in front of it. I can't get out!"

Just then, the banging and shouting started up again. It seemed to be coming from inside the box.

Percy cringed.

"Edmund," he whispered, nervously. "I think there's someone in that box."

Edmund seemed rather apprehensive. He stroked his beard and squinted his eyes.

"You know, Percy," he said, "I think you're right. Go up there and knock on the side. Ask if anyone's in."

Percy's eyes widened considerably.

"Why me? It's your house."

Edmund glared at him.

"Don't give me an argument, Percy, I'm not in the mood. Just do it."

Percy seemed to shrink.

"Well, all right," he said, rather peevishly.

Slowly, cautiously, Lord Percy crept down the narrow hallway towards the great, wooden box. The cries and bangs had gotten louder. As he came nearer, Percy though he could make out words. He called back to Edmund.

"I think they're calling for help," he said.

"Help with what?" asked Edmund.

"I'm not sure."

Edmund rolled his eyes.

"Then go and ask them, you imbecile!"

Percy nodded, nervously.

"Right."

He strode forward the rest of the way, then paused to knock sharply on the side of the box.

"Hullo?" he called in a tentative voice. "Is there anyone in there?"

There seemed to be something of a scuffle going on inside the box, then one voice rose above the others.

"Yes!" it called out. "Yes, we're here. We can't seem to get the door open. I think it's jammed. Can you help?"

Percy turned back to Edmund.

"They say the door's jammed. They must be at the front door and not inside this box at all. I think we're going to have to move it aside to let them in."

Edmund came forward to inspect the box.

"Well, we're going to have to turn it a bit in order to get it down this stair here. I think we should move it to the corridor leading to the side door. Otherwise, we won't be able to get past it ourselves. Come on, grab a corner and help me pull."

Straining together, the two men managed to turn the box about forty-five degrees. As they did, a wooden door became visible on the side that had been pressed up against the wall. As they pulled and strained and grunted, this door gave a little shake, then opened with a slight bump against the wall.

"You're going to have to turn it a bit more," came the voice from the other side. "We still can't get the door to open."

Percy jumped.

"They really are on the inside," he exclaimed. "There's a door on the side here that's half open."

Edmund straighted and smoothed down his black, leather tunic. He strode over to the half-open door, one hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword.

"All right, you lot," he demanded, "who are you and what are you doing in this box?"

"It might be easier to explain if we could talk with you face to face," said the voice, which Percy thought sounded strangely familiar. The voice went on. "It is rather awkward talking to a wall, you know."

"Then, perhaps you could just enlighten me as to your names," said Lord BlackAdder.

"Well," said the voice, "my name is Professor Edmund Blackadder. I'm here with my nephew and his domestic employee."

Edmund and Percy looked at each other, eyes wide.

"I thought he sounded familiar," said Percy. "And now I have it. He sounds just like you, Edmund. Only, without that slight lisp you have."

Edmund straightened.

"I do not have a lisp!" he exclaimed.

"Well, it's only a tiny one," said Percy. "Hardly noticeable. It's probably because of the way half your front teeth slant inwards somewhat."

Edmund looked haughty.

"That is utter nonsense," he said carefully, trying to hide his teeth with his lips. "And even if it were true, which it's not, that man in there doesn't sound anything like me. He sounds as though he's talking through his nose."

Percy looked as if he were about to comment, but Edmund silenced him with a glare.

"Still," he went on, "we can't just leave them in that box all day. They're blocking the exit. Come on, let's turn it a little more. Once they're out, they can help us pull this beastly thing the rest of the way down the corridor."

Percy nodded.

"All right, Edmund." He spoke to the gap between the box and its door. "Does that sound all right to you fellows in there?" he asked.

"Yes, yes, yes!" exclaimed an impatient second voice that sounded very much like the first. "Just get us out of here!"

Lord BlackAdder and Lord Percy pushed against the corner of the box until they'd turned it enough to allow the door to open completely. It came down so rapidly that the two nobles had to leap backwards in order to avoid getting beaned on the head. Once they were a safe distance away, they turned their full attention to the three characters descending the ramp.

Percy leaned towards Edmund, trying to be discreet in his observations.

"Edmund," he said, "there's something uncannily familiar about these three men. I can't quite put my finger on what it is, but I have the feeling I've seen them somewhere before."

Lord BlackAdder was too busy staring at the newcomers to respond to Percy's observations. His eyes were open nearly as wide as his mouth.

Lord Blackadder was the first out of the time machine. When he caught sight of the clothing of the two noblemen standing gaping before him like two asphyxiating tadpoles, he stopped short and turned to his uncle, who was close on his heels.

"Erm, Uncle," he said, "I thought we'd decided to go back to 1497 to meet up with the first Lord BlackAdder. Now, I'm no expert on historical fashions, but I'd say that, judging from the short, balloon-like trousers, the rather revealing tights, the somewhat oversized codpieces, and the frilly, plate-like neck warmers, we have missed the mark yet again."

The professor ignored his nephew and strode right past him, his eyes glued to the stunned nobleman standing in front of him.

"Lord BlackAdder, I presume?" the professor said in a rather tight voice that only barely restrained his excitement and awe.

Lord BlackAdder looked uncertainly at Percy, who merely shrugged, then took a step forward.

"Yes, that's me," he said, his brow wrinkled with confusion. "But, do I know you?"

The professor shook his head.

"No, my lord. But I've read so much about you I feel I know you."

Lord BlackAdder's look of confusion hardened into one of suspicious anger.

"Is that so?" he asked.

The professor, who didn't notice his ancestor's shift in mood, went on.

"Oh, yes, my lord. I've made a great study of you. In fact, only a very short time ago, I held your very diary in my hands."

Lord BlackAdder's anger had turned to a silently outraged, fuming fury. Lord Blackadder put a cautioning hand on his uncle's shoulder.

"Erm, Uncle, before you go any further, I believe we should explain a bit more about ourselves. I fear they may be getting the wrong impression. And they are both carrying swords."

The professor looked as though that were news to him.

"Oh. Very well. If that's what you think is best."

Lord Blackadder shook his head.

"Please excuse my uncle, Lord BlackAdder," he said. "He gets a bit ahead of himself sometimes."

"Hang on," said Lord BlackAdder. "Before you go on any further, I want to know one thing."

"Yes?"

"Are you three connected in any way to those foul, prying gossip spies that have been pestering me lately?"

The three time travelers looked confused.

"I wasn't aware there were paparazzi at this time," said the professor. "What time is this, anyway?"

Percy spoke up.

"Well, it's just before noon, actually."

"He means, what's the year," said Baldrick.

Percy's eyes widened in understanding, then he laughed, derisively.

"Imagine not knowing that!" he exclaimed. "It's 1592, of course."

Lord Blackadder nodded.

"Of course. Baldrick," he said, turning to his scruffy, little companion. "You've landed us almost exactly a century off."

Baldrick seemed upset.

"And I had been so sure I'd gotten it right this time, too," he said.

Percy's eyes widened suddenly.

"Wait a moment!" he exclaimed. "Wait a moment!" He turned to Lord Blackadder. "You called that man Baldrick just now, didn't you?"

"Why, yes I did. It is his name, after all."

"Edmund!" cried Percy, turning to his friend. "I've got it! I know why these three persons look so familiar."

Lord BlackAdder didn't seem impressed.

"Do you, Percy?"

"Yes," he said, concentrating very hard on keeping his train of thought. The effort made his voice sound strained, slow, and hoarse. "Yes, I do. These three persons look so familiar because… because…because two of them are somehow related to you, and the third is somehow related to Baldrick. That's why this Baldrick is called Baldrick, like your Baldrick is."

Lord BlackAdder seemed exasperated.

"A very astute observation, Percy."

Percy looked very pleased with himself.

"Thank you, Edmund."

"Now shut-up."

Percy's smile fell.

"Oh. All right."

"Now," said Lord BlackAdder. "If you're not gossip spies, then who are you?"

"Well," said Lord Blackadder, stepping forward, "believe it or not, your friend here is right. We are, in fact, your descendants from the 20th century. We came here, to this time, in this device," he gestured to the great wooden box behind him. "We call it a _time machine_. Its purpose is to-"

Lord BlackAdder raised a hand.

"Please!" he said, "spare us your lengthy explanations. I don't care what its purpose is. You say you've come here by accident?"

"Yes," said the professor. "It seems to be a chronic problem with us. You see, Baldrick—"

Lord BlackAdder cut him off.

"I don't care," he said. "Since you're not supposed to be here, I would suggest you leave. I'm not in the mood for a visit from my future relations. What I would really like, more than anything in the world, is to be alone right now."

The professor nodded his head in understanding.

"Oh, I see," he said. "This must be the morning Lady Pottle broke your engagement."

Lord BlackAdder looked angry.

"Does everyone in the blasted world know about this?" he exploded, asking everyone and no one.

"I wouldn't worry too much if I were you," said the professor.

"Oh? And why not?"

"Because she'll take you back this afternoon. In fact, she'll insist you get married this very night."

Percy looked excited. Lord BlackAdder looked skeptical.

"Oh yes? And why should I believe you? Besides which, the way I'm feeling now, I wouldn't take her back if she came crawling to me naked over a glacier covered with broken glass just to prove her devotion."

"It will happen," the professor assured him. "As sure as I'm standing here. Remember, I told you I've made a study of your life. The next few days are going to be rather difficult for you."

"How so?"

"Well," said the professor, "I don't know if I should really tell you. Perhaps we should just go."

"You three aren't going anywhere," said Lord BlackAdder, shifting his former position a full 180 degrees. "You're going to come into the parlor with me and Percy here, and you're going to tell us all you know."

The professor straightened.

"And if we refuse?"

Lord BlackAdder smirked.

"You won't refuse. If you've made such a study of me, as you claim, there's no way you'd give up such a perfect opportunity to interview the real person behind the writings, am I right?"

The professor sighed.

"All right," he said. "I know when I'm beaten. Where is your parlor?"

"Just through here," said Lord BlackAdder, indicating to the door to his right. "I'll just get my servant, Baldrick, to—" he cut himself off. "Oh, that's right. Your _time machine_ , as you call it, has trapped him in his room. We're going to have to move it down the corridor if we're to get him out."

Lord Blackadder glanced at his own Baldrick, then turned to his ancestor.

"Are your sure that's wise?," he asked.

Lord BlackAdder looked thoughtful.

"Not really. But it won't do to just let him rot in there. Who else could I find who would work for such low wages? And, when I say wages, I don't mean actual money. I mean room and turnips. Come on, let's move this thing out of the way."

The five men struggled to get the awkward, bulky time machine down the stairs without harming it. After that, it was a relatively simple matter to pull it down the corridor and block the side door with it.

Lord BlackAdder straightened at the door and sighed.

"There's still no way around it. We'll have to go out the side door and come back in through the front. Come on."

As he led the way around the house, he muttered to himself, "Unbelievable! All this trouble just to get into the sitting room and have a cold drink. What a day! First, rejected by my fiancee because 'she's not ready for the commitment, she wants to play the field for a while longer just to make sure she's not missing anything'—oh, God!—then those trespassing gypsies, and now two ugly old men claiming to be my descendants from more than 400 years in the future bung up my hallways with their so-called time machine and trap that idiot Baldrick in his room. Well, maybe that part wasn't so bad, but the rest of it—"

His sour musings were interrupted by the professor, who was trailing after the others as the last one out.

"Oh, my!" he gasped. "Look at these gardens! They're absolutely lovely!"

Lord BlackAdder shot him a slitted glare.

"I would have thought that, as my descendant, you would be familiar with them yourself. After all, I have no intention of selling them, and if, as you say, I will soon be in a position to have a lawful heir, I will naturally be leaving all this to him when I go. Or, perhaps you were lying."

The professor seemed not to notice his sharp tone.

"No, no I wasn't lying. But many things can happen in four centuries. Why, just think of all that's changed since 1190! Now consider that the level of human technology is increasing at a double exponential rate. By the year 2000, where my nephew and his servant are from, inventions that you can't even dream of will be common household appliances. Along with all this technological change will, of course, come changes in mentality. Your descendents will view the world in a way that is very different from the way you view it. As will mine, for that matter, and my nephew's. I mean, just look at how the railroad—oh, wait, the railroad won't be invented for another two or three hundred years or so—ships! Explorers! Think of the impact the realization that there were cultures in the world so vastly different from yours that they seem to be from another planet has had on your civilization so far! Think of the importance of the discovery of the potato!"

"Look, enough of this," snapped Lord BlackAdder.

The professor jumped, alarmed at the violence of his tone.

"I'm sorry, have you got something against potatoes?"

"Not against them personally, but I've had a bad experience with a tribe of hungry cannibals and their boomeranges as a direct result of their discovery."

"Oh."

"Now, I don't know about you, but I'm getting very thirsty. Let's go inside, have a drink, and then you are going to explain your presence here and that comment earlier about Jane wanting to make up, all right?"

The professor nodded, seemingly subdued by his ancestor's anger.

"Good! Now, as long as no other unexpected visitors drop by for a chat, I'll just…"

Lord BlackAdder trailed off as he turned the corner to the front of his house and spied a slender young man in bright clothing and carrying a long scroll come sauntering towards his door.

"Oh, no!" he groaned.

The others came up behind him to see what he was groaning about.

"Oh, look!" smiled Percy. "It's that messenger chap! He's probably come here with a message from the Queen, Edmund!" He sounded excited.

Lord BlackAdder strode towards the young messenger with a resigned expression on his bearded face.

"All right, messenger, what is it this time?" he asked, meeting the young man just in front of the door. He stretched out an arm and leaned casually against it as the messenger unrolled his missive and began to read.

" 'Her majesty, the Queen of England, hereby requests and requires the immedate presence of Lord Edmund BlackAdder in her throne room, at once! And, if he gives you any of his whiny excuses, you are to show him this death warrant,' " the messanger absently held up a slightly smaller roll of parchment, " 'which will be put into immediate effect unless he comes along quietly. Is that understood, Eddie? Love, your own Queenie.' Oh," said the messenger unrolling the parchment a little more, "There's a postscript. 'P.S. Be sure to wear those super tights you wore at Melchie's birthday party last week—if you still have them, that is. Otherwise, I just might be very cross, and you wouldn't like that, would you?' "

Lord BlackAdder fixed the smirking messenger with a cold stare.

The messenger cringed.

"Is that all she says?" he asked, half enjoying the way the young man seemed to shrink under his gaze and half wishing his gaze would make him disappear entirely.

The messenger swallowed.

"Um, yes, my lord. It is."

"Good." He broke his gaze and turned towards the door.

The messenger seemed to be waiting for something. There was an uncomfortable pause that lasted long enough for a rich-looking carriage to drive by. Finally, Edmund turned his head to look at him over his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, was there something else you wanted?"

The messenger looked exceedingly uncomfortable.

"Well, I, uh, that is, erm, a gratuity—"

"Gratuity!" Edmund snapped. "What have you done that I should be grateful for? Your message was most unwelcome, as, consequently, is your presence at my doorway. Now, get lost, or else I'll sic Baldrick on you, like I did the last time you came around."

The messenger paled noticably at that, his formerly red lips turning almost blue. Before he took in another breath, he had turned and fled, vanishing like magic into the scattered crowds in the street. Edmund didn't even take the time to watch him go. He thrust open his front door, then turned to his impressed descendents and the disappointed Percy and said, "Well, what are you waiting for? Come in."

They did, Percy lagging behind a bit in order to have a short word with his friend.

"Edmund, really," he said as Lord BlackAdder closed the door behind him. "You don't have to be so mean to that poor messenger every time he comes around."

"Yes, Percy, I do."

"But, why?"

"Because, Percy, his presence gives me a pain. As, by the way, does yours. Now, out of my way, Jelly-Brain. I've got to change my tights and get over to Richmond before the Queen decides to put that death warrant into effect. It'll be up to you, Perce, to pump these three strangers for information."

Percy proudly straightened to his full height.

"You can count on me, Edmund! I'll pump them within an inch of their lives."

"No need to go that far, Percy. Just get that information out of them. Anything else you decide to do together on you own time is your own business."

Percy looked confused, but he nodded eagerly.

"Yes, Edmund."

Edmund reached up and grasped Percy by the shoulder.

"Ah, Percy. Always such a delight to talk to."

Percy brightened.

"Really, Edmund?"

Edmund shook his head and used the hand that was grasping Percy's shoulder to shove him out of his way so he could pass him.

"No. Now, get in that sitting room and find out all you can about those three men. I should be back by sundown, or shortly thereafter."

"Yes, Edmund!" Percy grinned, proudly. It wasn't every day his friend entrusted him with such great responsibility. He watched as Edmund stomped away into his private chambers, then tried to think how best to approach the three strangers waiting in the sitting room. Should he come in as a brash, swaggering, dashing interrogator, taking his cue from the irrepressible Lord Flashheart? He tried a few swaggering steps, but nearly got his legs tangled in his sword and quickly gave up on that approach. Well, if he couldn't be like Lord Flashheart, then perhaps he could be cool, witty, and sarcastic like Lord BlackAdder. Percy stood by the door, his hand on the knob, trying to think of something cool and witty that Edmund would be likely to say. He was still pondering when the real Edmund came up behind him.

"Still here, Percy?" he observed. "I thought I'd told you to go in there and question those strangers."

Caught off guard, Percy gave a start, then stumbled, trying to come up with an explanation for his hesitiation in entering the room.

"Well—well, to tell you the truth, Edmund, I wasn't sure what I was going to say to them."

Edmund just looked at him.

"But, that's nothing. You just go in there and say, 'All right, you three, time's up. Explain your presence here or else get out.' You know, something like that."

"Oh," grinned Percy, "that was very good. Could you just write that out for me so I won't forget it?"

Edmund rolled his eyes.

"Look, Moss-Brain, I don't have time for this. My life is on the line, and I'm late already. Just get in there!" He thrust the door open then gave Percy a hearty shove in the small of his back.

The three time travelers looked up with a start as Percy came tumbling into the room.

Edmund strode in after him, one hand still on the door knob.

"Unfortunately," he addressed his visitors, "I have just been called away on urgent business. I should return in a few hours, so long as no further unexpected occurances plague me on the way. In the meantime, you are to explain everything you would have explained to me to Percy, here."

He gestured to the empty fireplace at the far end of the room where Percy was only now getting to his feet. He waved weakly.

"Hullo."

"If you should need anything while I am away, be assured that my servant, Baldrick, is at your disposal. All you need do is call for him, and he should be with you in six or seven years. Now, if that's all clear, I'll be on my way. Can't say it was a pleasure meeting with you, but then, who can? Farewell."

With those parting words, he swept out of the room, closing the door behind him.

The three time travelers turned their attention to Lord Percy.

Percy swallowed uncomfortably.

"So, anyone care for a glass of lemonade?"

* * *

Several hours later, the three time travelers had gotten through their entire tale. Luckily, Lord Blackadder had taken control of the conversation, otherwise the professor would have spent the entire time questioning Percy about the effect of increased ship travel and better navigational techniques on the way 16th century people experienced distance. Baldrick had already confused him terribly by asking if he was related to a Captain Darling.

"No, I don't believe so," Percy had replied. "The name certainly doesn't sound familiar. Does he have a ship?"

"No," said Baldrick. "He looked to me like more of a desk jockey. And he had a twitch in his eye. But he did look exactly like you."

"What's a desk jockey?"

"I'm not entirely sure. I think that it's someone who rides a desk in the horse races, but I could be wrong."

At any rate, once Lord Blackadder had taken control of the conversation they were able to give Percy the information he wanted, and they were now getting some information they wanted out of Percy over an early supper. The meal was supposed to be roast partridge with mushroom sauce. Unfortunately, since Lord BlackAdder's Baldrick had cooked the meal, the only one who could actually eat it was Lord Blackadder's Baldrick. And, he was doing so with relish. They were all out of mustard.

"So," said Lord Blackadder, pushing his plate even further away. The smell was getting up his nose. He had a sneaking suspicion that those brownish lumps floating in the sauce weren't real mushrooms.

"You have no idea why Lord BlackAdder should disappear? He has no enemies that you know of? No one he'd wish to avoid? Besides you, that is."

"Well," said Percy slowly, too deep in thought to recognize Lord Blackadder's jab, "there is Edmund's aunt and uncle, Lord and Lady WhiteAdder. They're fanatical Puritans, you know. At least, they were until they invited themselves over for dinner on the same night Edmund was holding a drinking contest with some friends and Lord Melchett. The Queen stopped by that night as well, if I recall correctly. The whole thing's rather fuzzy. Actually, since then, they've been much, much nicer to him. I think that's why he hasn't been worried about money much lately. No, I don't think it would be them. Sorry, I can't think of anyone."

"Well," said the professor, leaning forward, "what about—"

Just then, the door opened and Lord BlackAdder's servant stumped in. He had a filthy leather tunic and a matching floppy hat and he sported a ragged beard that was stiff with years of drool and worse. The smell that eeked off of him was right out of a volcano that was in the habit of belching out great clouds of sulfuric gasses. He was wearing a broad grin that showed to great advantage his brown, soggy teeth.

"Hope you're all enjoying the food," he said.

Baldrick nodded enthusiastically, his mouth full and brown sauce dripping down his chin. The others just let out a sort of weak groan.

Baldrick's grin widened, causing a small portion of dried egg to flake off his beard.

Lord Blackadder watched in queasy fascination as it floated to the floor.

"That's good," the little man said. "You've all got a messenger here to see you."

"Well, show him in," said Percy.

"Very well."

Baldrick leaned back into the corridor, then opened the door wider to allow a second man entry into the room.

"My lords, good professor, and you, Baldrick," the little man announced. "I present to you, the Queen's messenger."

Lord Blackadder wondered idly if he should clap after an introduction like that. The thin young man that entered the room was the same one that had met with Lord BlackAdder just before his departure several hours before. He came in somewhat hesitantly, but relaxed when he saw that Lord BlackAdder was not there.

"Sirs," he announced. "I bring a message."

Lord Blackadder rolled his eyes.

"Yes, obviously. You're a messenger! Just get on with it."

The messenger cringed slightly and cleared his throat, unrolling his parchment and starting to read.

" 'From Her Majesty Elizabeth I, the Queen of All England, to Lord Edmund BlackAdder's Funny Jester Friend And His Smelly Little Pet Monkey As Well:

" 'Greetings. Sad tidings have just reached Our ears concerning poor Edmund. After entertaining Us most satisfactorily with many rude tales concerning the courtship between himself and his now former fiancee, the Lady Jane Pottle… Or Poodle? Puddle? Pothole, perhaps. We can never remember which—whose nose is far too long to be considered pretty—thank you Melchie, where was I? Are you taking this all down, little writing man? Good. Oh, yes, I remember now. Edmund has vanished! Completely! No one has any idea where he is. You two are hereby requested and required by Us, your own Queen, to come to Our castle and help in the search.

" 'Sincerely, Elizabeth I, etc., etc., etc. You write it all out, little writing man—what is your name, anyway? Oh, that's right. Now, send that off at once. You didn't just write that, did you? No? Good. Now, stop writing and send it! Stop! Let me see that!' "

The messenger cleared his throat again and let the parchment roll back up with a snap.

"Erm, that's all there is."

Percy looked absoluetly stunned. His mouth opened and closed, but no sounds came out.

Professor Blackadder looked excited.

"This is it!" he exclaimed, jumping to his feet. "At last, we shall learn the solution to this mystery that has plagued the Blackadder family for centuries!"

"Erm, I hate to burst your bubble, Uncle," said Lord Blackadder, "but, didn't you say earlier that Lord BlackAdder married Lady Pottle before his mysterious death?"

"Death!" Percy exclaimed. "Are you saying Edmund is going to…" He swallowed. "...die?," he finished in a near whisper.

"Well, originally he did," said the professor, answering his nephew and ignoring Percy's anxious, heartfelt contribution to the conversation. "But maybe our presence here altered something somehow. We are a factor of unpredictability and instability in the closely woven fabric of history. However, it's too late to do anything about it now, and we don't want to risk going back to erase our presence here because we'll never be able to land at the correct mark. I think that much at least should be obvious by now."

"Yes," sighed Lord Blackadder. "So, what's the plan? Do we go with Percy and Baldrick to the castle or do we leave now before we change anything else? We were aiming for the first Lord BlackAdder after all. That would be this one's, what, great-grandfather?"

The professor shrugged.

"Something like that. No, I think we should go along to the castle but keep out of sight. We don't want whomever it was that killed the others to get any ideas about us as well."

"Then, why do we have to go at all?"

"To learn, my boy!" The professor grinned. "Knowledge always comes with a price. This is the price for solving this mystery. Come along, let's get going!" He turned to the other occupants of the room. "Messenger, message received. You may go now."

The messenger stood fast.

"But, sir—I will go—but I must demand my gratuity first."

The professor nodded.

"But of course." He looked at his nephew. "Eddie?"

Lord Blackadder pulled his leather wallet from his back pocket and displayed its contents.

"All I've got are some credit cards and a wad of late twentieth century pound notes."

The professor shrugged.

"Ah, well. And I know I certainly don't have any 16th century money on me." He turned to Percy. "I'm sorry, my lord, but we aren't carrying any of the coinage from your historical period on our persons. Do you think you could pay this man?"

Lord Percy nodded and pulled his money bag from his tights.

"Here you are, messenger," he said, pressing several coins into the young man's hand.

The messenger glanced at the money in his hand, then grinned.

"Thank you, my lord, sirs. And I do hope nothing serious has happened to Lord BlackAdder." He turned to leave. "The cheap bas—"

Whatever the rest of the young messenger's sotto voce utterance might have been was swallowed up in the click of the door as he closed it behind him.

As soon as he was out of sight, the others promptly forgot he had ever been. Percy came over to the professor, anxiety leaking out of every pore.

"Professor Blackadder, sir, you don't really think Edmund is dead, do you?"

"Well," said the professor, "Not yet. There are several things that have to happen first before he dies. But as to what they are or when they are to occur, I must admit that I'm never been certain. And, if I'm right and our presence here is altering the time line, whatever stories were told about the incident will no longer apply. Sorry."

Percy nodded.

"Well, so long as he's not dead," he said. "Edmund is my best friend, you know."

Lord Blackadder gave him an incredulous look.

"You poor man."

Percy turned to him.

"No, I'm not poor. It's just that I haven't come into my inheritance yet and my allowance is too small."

Lord Blackadder shook his head.

"Never mind. Baldrick!"

His little employee came forward, wiping his sauce-stained chin with his sleeve.

"Yes, my lord?," he asked brightly. His meal had made him chipper.

"My uncle, Percy, that other Baldrick, and I are going to see Queen Elizabeth. We might be gone for some days. Now, I'm giving you a choice. You can either come with us, or you can stay here and watch over the time machine to make sure nothing happens to it. What's your decision."

"Oh, Lord Blackadder, sir, that's not a very fair choice. Why, I've always wanted to see Queen Elizabeth. And Prince Charles and Princes William and Harry and all!"

Lord Blackadder stared at him.

"No, not that Queen Elizabeth you idiot! Queen Elizabeth the First, the Virgin Queen, the one who was Queen when Shakespeare started writing his plays and the Spanish Armada was blown away by a great, Protestant wind..."

"Ohhh!" said Baldrick. He looked enlightened. Then, he edged up closer to his employer and asked in a confidential tone. "My lord, I've always wondered."

"Yes, Baldrick?"

"Well, I always couldn't help but wonder, was she really a virgin?"

Lord Blackadder's expression was hard to describe. He turned to Percy.

"Well, Percy, you're the resident Elizabethan here. So, are the rumors true? Is the queen really a virgin?"

Percy seemed scandalized at the question.

"Why, of course she is!" he exclaimed. "I mean, she is something of a tease, but she's never done anything about it. She's married to her kingdom, as she's often said. Besides, though she doesn't look it and though she doesn't like people to mention it, I happen to know that she's either approaching sixty or even past it. You'd never believe it to see her, though."

"There, Baldrick," said Lord Blackadder. "Satisfied?"

"Well, I—"

"Good. Now, your decision. Are you to stay here and guard the time machine or come with us to the castle?"

"I'll stay, my lord. I don't want to be stranded here any more than you do."

Lord Blackadder raised his eyebrows.

"Why, Baldrick!" he said. "I'm impressed! I never realized you could be so noble."

"No, it's not that, my lord."

"Then what is it?"

"Horses, my lord. They've always rather frightened me, with their long ears and their stubborn natures."

"Baldrick, I believe the animal you have in mind is not a horse, but a donkey."

"That still don't matter, my lord. I don't want nothing to do with riding an animal what's got a mind of its own. I'd much prefer a car."

"Sorry, Balders, but there won't be any automobiles on this planet for more than three hundred years. You're out of luck."

"I know. That's why I'd rather stay here."

"Well, have it your way. I'm not arguing with you. I'd rather you stayed here too."

"Then, why didn't you just tell me to, my lord?"

"I suppose I was interested to see what your decision would be. Not that it would have mattered if you'd chosen to come along. I would have had you stay anyway."

Baldrick nodded, unsurprised.

"Oh, and Baldrick, Percy says there's a troop of roving gypsies about, and there is a danger of gossip spies, as he describes them, entering into the house in order to find something untoward to write about, if you know what I mean. If any of them should find the time machine—"

"You don't have to say anything more, my lord," said Baldrick. "I'll keep out any and all intruders."

"Right! Then, this is good bye for now."

Baldrick watched as his time traveling companions joined up with the two Elizabethans in the corridor, then waved as Lords Percy and Blackadder mounted two chestnut horses, the professor mounted a dappled gray, and Baldrick mounted a little, gray donkey. Once they were all out of sight, Baldrick walked around the outside of Lord BlackAdder's house until he came to the side entrance. Then, he went in, opened the door to the time machine, went in there, closed the door, curled up on the wooden floor in such a position that he would be stepped on if anyone tried to enter after him, and, using his bag of things as a pillow, fell fast asleep.

* * *

To Lord Blackadder, a person who had both feet firmly planted in the near 21st century, a person who owned many cars and had experienced the speed and efficiency of travel by rail and by plane, the journey to the Queen's castle was long, tiring, dirty, and surprisingly painful. When, as a child, Lord Blackadder had read of long journeys on horseback made by gallant knights, or watched movies about the rugged cowboys of the American West he had somehow missed the role saddle sores and calluses had taken in such adventures. The horse's walk was jarring and uneven. Lord Blackadder could feel the leather reigns digging into his palms as he tightened his grip in an attempt to keep his balance. He took a risk and turned his head slightly to steal a glance at the orange smudge in his peripheral vision that was Percy. To his annoyance, both he and the leather-coated Baldrick seemed quite at home in the saddle, their bodies moving easily with the rhythm of the stride of their mounts. Lord Blackadder could feel the tiredness in his thighs and abdomen from the constant jarring motion of his horse and the effort of clinging on.

Those two Elizabethans must have backsides made of rawhide, he grumbled in his head. He promised himself right there and then that, after the necessary return trip, he would never go horseback riding again. He felt he now understood how those rugged cowboys had developed that tough-guy, bow-legged walk he had so envied as a child. He envied it no longer.

"Well, here we are everybody," Percy announced, reigning in his horse.

Lord Blackadder slowly raised his head and looked about. The journey had been so uncomfortable that he had not noticed the passing scenery. Somehow, they had entered into a stone courtyard. Several men were coming toward them. Percy dismounted expertly and handed the reigns of his horse to the nearest. The bearded Baldrick did the same. The professor dismounted a little more clumsily, but it was clear from his expression that he had enjoyed the trip far, far more than his nephew had.

Lord Blackadder looked down from his perch on the fidgety horse's back to the expectant faces of the stable hands below. If he was going to dismount, he might as well do it now. Carefully, he swung his leg over the horse's back.

"Oooch!" he groaned, his eyes widening as a sharp pain shot through his inner thigh. He was certain he'd just pulled something. He slid the rest of the way off the horse, landing rather ungracefully on his bum in the courtyard dirt.

"Aaach!" he grunted, rubbing his sore backside and struggling painfully to his feet. To his vast annoyance, the stable hands were laughing at him.

"Been at that 'incredibly strong ale' of yours again, Lord BlackAdder?" one of them queried with an insufferable smirk.

Lord Blackadder straightened as best he could and shot him a really first class glare.

"Mind your own business, cretin," he snapped.

"Woo hoo!" the man exclaimed, raising his open palms in mock defense. "Aren't we the testy one. Queen after your hide again?"

"Shut-up and go away, you brainless oaf! My business is my own, so kindly keep your warty nose out of it."

The stable hand looked amused.

"Yes, my lord," he said, straightening. "Just as you say."

He took hold of the chestnut's reigns and led it away after the others, whistling as he did so. Lord Blackadder groaned again, then limped after his own party. They were waiting up for him at the castle's main entrance.

"I must say, Lord Blackadder," said Percy disapprovingly, "that was the worst dismount I have ever seen in my life. Where did you ever learn to ride a horse?"

Lord Blackadder glared at him. He had been hoping for more sympathy for his bruises.

"For your information, I never did learn to ride a horse. I own ten cars, I don't need a horse to get around with."

"One of these days, you're going to have to tell me about these cars you're always talking about," said Percy. "I'm sure I'd dearly love to see one."

"Well, you never will so learn to live with it." He limped a few bad tempered steps into the castle, but stopped when he realized no one was following him. "Well? What are you all waiting for?" he snapped. "Are we going to see the Queen or aren't we?"

"If you recall, Edmund," said the professor, "it was only Lord Percy and Baldrick here who were called into Her Majesty's presence. I'm afraid that you and I, dear boy, must find someplace suitable to hide, where we can see and hear, yet not be seen or heard ourselves. We are to be observers here, not participants. And, besides that, we certainly don't want to be mistaken for their missing Lord BlackAdder, do we? If these people think he's in the castle, they might give up their search and the real one may never be found."

"Look, Uncle," said Lord Blackadder, "I have just pulled a muscle in my leg, and my backside aches like the dickens. I am not going to spend the next several hours crouched behind some musty article of furniture, spying on the Queen and her friends as they search the castle for Lord BlackAdder. All their searching will probably be to no avail, anyway. You remember how desperately he wanted to be left alone. If you ask me, wherever he is, he doesn't want to be found just yet."

Percy looked hopeful.

"Do you really think that's all it is?"

The professor looked skeptical. He seemed about to refute his nephew's explanation, then he saw how badly Percy wanted to believe in it. He sighed.

"Well, possibly," he said. Percy looked relieved. "But I wouldn't stop the search just on a hunch like that. Lord Percy, do you know of any place in the throne room where my nephew and I could conceal ourselves?"

Percy looked thoughtful. It seemed to cause him some strain to keep the expression constant for more than a few seconds.

"My lords," a voice piped up from the rear. They all turned in that direction. It was the leather-encrusted, bearded Baldrick who had spoken. From his pensive posture and the glint in his eye, Lord Blackadder felt he had a pretty good idea what the small, though all too familiar, collection of words were that were lying in wait, jostling with each other in intense anticipation of being released from the little man's rancid mouth. His intuition was soon proved to be correct. As soon as he was certain all eyes were focused exclusively upon him, the bearded Baldrick smiled slyly. "I," he annouced, "have a cunning plan."

To Baldrick's disappointment, his companions perked up not one jot. Quite the opposite; they seemed exasperated. Only Percy looked even slightly interested.

"And, what is your cunning plan, Baldrick?," he asked, though not very enthusiastically.

"Well," said Baldrick eagerly, encouraged by Percy's apparent curiosity, "I know for a fact that today is the day the castle's rugs get cleaned. If we was to find out where they've been hung, then we could pull some down and wrap you two Blackadders up in them. Then, me and my Lord Percy could carry you, concealed in these rugs, into the throne room, where you could hear everything!"

"Yes," said the professor, snidely, "If we don't asphyxiate first. Besides, a rolled carpet is very heavy. It would be far too much of a burden for either you or Lord Percy to lift my nephew and myself along with such a carpet and carry us all the way to the throne room. No, there must be a better way."

Lord Blackadder's eyes widened with a sudden flash of insight.

"Wait!" he cried. "With just a bit of modification, this Baldrick's plan just might work!"

"What?" asked Baldrick, surprised. "How?"

"Tapestries!" Lord Blackadder stated, as if that one word explained everything.

"I'm sorry," said Percy, apologetically, "but I'm afraid I don't quite follow."

"I do," said the professor. His pale complexion brightened slowly. "My lord," he said, turning to Percy, "are there any tapestries hanging in the Queen's throne room?"

"Why, yes," said Percy, still confused. "Why?"

"Where are they located?"

"Well," said Percy, slowly, "there is a large tapestry just behind the Queen's throne."

"Then, that's it!" the professor exclaimed. "All Eddie and I need do is hide behind there while everyone's out in some other part of the castle looking for Edmund. If we're very careful, I'm certain no one will notice us sneak in."

"But, Uncle," said Lord Blackadder. His uncle turned to him. "What about my leg? I can't sneak about a castle with a pulled muscle. Well," he said as an afterthought, "not very convincingly anyway."

"Oh," said the professor, as if he'd forgotten his nephew's unfortunate affliction. "Oh, yes. That could be difficult."

Lord Blackadder gave an exaggerated nod.

"No it won't," said Percy. "Baldrick and I will go on ahead and let you both know when the corridors are clear. Then, Lord Blackadder can limp or hop or whatever down the passages and still remain unseen."

Lord Blackadder raised his eyes as high as they could climb up the stone wall in front of him.

"It's not going to work," he said in a kind of sing-song under his breath. Only the professor heard, for he was standing closest to him, but he pretended he hadn't.

"Sounds swell," he said, showing in his unconscious word choice the impact the slang of his time period of origin had had on his speech patterns, despite his education. "Let's put it into practice, shall we?"

Percy gave up wondering just which sounds were swelling and why the professor had decided to bring up such a totally unrelated subject so suddenly in the middle of a conversation and nodded.

"Come along, Balders," he said, gesturing to the servant with his hand. "You look left and I'll look right. Remember to be extra careful at corners and open doorways."

The two Elizabethans ventured into the corridor, peering around them so blatantly that if they'd been spotted by a passing guard they'd have been taken in at once as spies. Luckily for all concerned, however, there were no guards about, or any other signs of human habitation. At the end of the first corridor, Percy waved his arms over his head to indicate to the two Blackadders at the door that the coast was clear. Lord Blackadder gave his uncle a look that clearly expressed his low opinion of Lord Percy's mental abilities and his uncle nodded in heartfelt agreement. This wordless communication over, the two crept forward—or, rather, the Professor crept and his nephew half hopped, half limped—down the hallway. The procedure was repeated at the next corridor, and the next. In this way, they gradually arrived at the throne room. The large tapestry was right where Percy had said it would be.

The throne room was deserted, as the rest of the castle the group had seen so far seemed to be. Despite a feeling of cold trepidation, the two Blackadders rushed into the room and dived behind the tapestry. Luckily, there was a large indentation in the wall directly behind it which left plenty of room for the two Blackadders to stand between wall and cloth without making the tapestry protrude, jiggle, or billow in any way.

"Now," whispered Percy loudly, wanting to be certain he could be heard behind the thick cloth, "you two just stay put. I'll go find the Queen, then I'll ask her to come back here. Would you like for Baldrick to remain with you, or come help me look for the Queen?"

Before either of the two men behind the tapestry could answer, the problem was solved for them. The Queen herself came sweeping into the room that very moment. She was slender and fine-boned, with a pale, smooth face, bright eyes, vibrant orange hair, and a full, white gown embroidered all over with pearls.

"Lord Percy!" she exclaimed, her high voice sounding sharp and commanding.

Percy jumped, then turned with his head hanging like that of a puppy who knows it is about to be scolded for leaving a most unwelcome present in his mistress's best shoes.

"Oh, hullo, your majesty—" he managed to get out before he was interrupted.

"What," demanded the Queen, "are you doing behind my throne?" The commanding tone had been replaced with one of false sweetness, but the underlying sharpness was still there. Percy cringed.

"Well, your majesty," he started, his hands shaking noticeably, "I thought I'd spied a speck of dust in the air. It was headed for your throne, so I thought I'd catch it before you sat on it and it clung to your lovely gown."

The Queen looked at him.

"Oh, well, if that's all," she said with a disdainful, careless sigh. She swept across the room and brushed at the seat of her throne with a small fan that was attached to her skirts.

Percy nodded eagerly, a very broad grin twisting his face until it was almost grotesque.

"Oh, yes. Yes, indeed, ma'am! That was all."

The Queen, who had been about to sit down, paused for a moment and peered at him through squinted eyes.

"You know, Lord Percy," she observed, "you are very strange."

A flustered Percy bowed deeply.

"Oh, thank you, your majesty."

"Now," she said, completing her sitting motion and smoothing out her skirts in front of her. "Why are you here?"

Percy looked confused and helpless for a moment, as if he couldn't remember himself. Then, relief passed over his eyes and he smiled.

"Why, you sent for us, my lady," he said, grandly including Baldrick with himself.

Now the queen looked confused.

"Did I?" she asked.

"Oh, yes, ma'am," Percy assured her. "You sent us a message telling us to come at once to help in the search for Edmund!"

"Oh, that's right!" cried the Queen gleefully. "I remember now!" She suddenly seemed serious. "We haven't been able to find him yet, you know," she told him. "And we've looked almost everywhere!"

"Beg pardon, ma'am, but what do you mean 'almost'?" asked Percy. "Have you checked behind the tapestries? He might be hiding there."

Lord Blackadder might have given away their position then and there in his surprise and anger at Percy's stupidity if it hadn't been for the pain in his leg and the restraining hand of his uncle clamped firmly over his mouth to prevent any words of abuse from escaping. Instead of reacting, the two observers from the future waited tensely for the Queen's reply.

"Yes, yes, of course we checked behind the tapestries," she snapped, "They were the first places we checked." She sighed. "He wasn't there."

"Oh," Percy said, completely unaware of how near he had come to giving away the position of the companions he had only recently helped to hide. If Lord Blackadder could have throttled him at that moment, he would have.

The Queen had fallen silent. Percy looked up at her and nearly jumped out of his skin. She was staring at him with a disturbingly intense look on her face. Regaining control of himself, Percy said, "Is there something wrong, your majesty?" As a sudden afterthought he added, "Besides Edmund's disappearance, of course."

"I don't know," said the Queen. "I was looking at you and the little monkey fellow just now, and I realized, I've never seen you two without Edmund before. It's a strange thought. Oh, and that reminds me. Lord Melchett's gone missing as well!"

Percy eyes widened as he looked around the room.

"That's true!" he exclaimed, just realizing it himself. "What should we do, your highness?"

"Well," said the Queen calmly, "since Lord Melchett was my Lord Chamberlain and since, with the disappearance of Lord BlackAdder, you are currently the highest ranking nobleman at court, I shall hereby make you my new Acting Lord Chamberlain. That is, until Melchie or Blackie turn up."

Percy hopped up and down in his excitement.

"Oh, thank you, ma'am! You won't regret choosing me, I promise!"

"I should certainly hope I won't," said the Queen. "Otherwise, the last sound you will hear is that of an axe falling sharply to your neck. _Chop!_ " She demonstrated the downward, curving motion of an axe with her hand.

Percy's elated face fell. The crash was almost audible. He swallowed.

The Queen smiled radiantly.

"But, never mind that now. Acting Lord Chamberlain Percy, I require advice."

Percy came to attention.

"Yes, my lady," he said. "Anything you wish."

The Queen stood.

"Where do you think I should search next?"

"Well, ma'am" said Percy very slowly. "If I were playing hide-and-seek, I would hide in the cellar in one of the empty apple barrels. Have you looked there yet?"

The Queen brightened.

"Why, no! I haven't" She leapt down from the raised area where her throne was located and brushed across the room towards the elegantly carved double doors. "Come along, Acting Lord Chamberlain. Oh, and bring Edmund's little pet with you. His nose might come in useful."

Percy was confused.

"His nose, your highness?"

"To sniff in the barrels and locate Edmund's scent, of course!"

"Ooohhh!" Percy nodded in understanding. "All right, come along, Balders! We're going to look for Edmund."

"Yes, my lord," said Baldrick easily, not at all bothered by having the Queen think of him as a pet. "I've just got one little thing to see to, then I'll be right with you."

"Just be quick about it," commanded the Queen. "Come along, Lord Percy."

She swept purposefully from the room, Lord Percy trailing awkwardly behind her.

Behind the tapestry, Lord Blackadder turned to his uncle. He opened his mouth to speak, but the professor pressed a silencing finger to his lips. Standing stiffly and still, they listened carefully to the footfalls approaching their hiding place.

"You two still there?" came a familiar voice.

"Of course we're still here, Baldrick," Lord Blackadder snapped. "Where else would we be?"

"I'm sure I don't know, my lord," Baldrick returned.

"Well, what do you want, you irritating Elizabethan?"

"I just wanted to tell you, my lord, the coast is clear. You can come out now."

Lord Blackadder rolled his eyes and hop-limped out from behind the tapestry.

"Yes, we are aware of that, Baldrick," he said coldly. "We were listening to the Queen's conversation, after all."

"Oh." Baldrick said, sounding hurt.

The professor shot a small glare at his nephew.

"Now, Eddie, the man was just doing what we'd told him to do. Thank you, Baldrick."

Baldrick's face showed immense surprise. He swayed on his feet and seemed about to faint.

Lord Blackadder limped over to him in surprised concern.

"Baldrick, are you all right?"

The 16th century Baldrick shook his shaggy head and stared up at them.

"I-I'm sorry, my lord, professor," he said somewhat shakily. "It's just that, no one has ever said thank you to me like that before. For anything!"

"Oh, that's all," said Lord Blackadder. "Well, there's always a first time for everything. And in this case, I'm certain it's also the last. Go along now, after the Queen. We don't want her to get suspicious about what's holding up Lord BlackAdder's little pet."

"Oh. Right, my lord!" Baldrick exclaimed, suddenly remembering. He scuttled out of the room, leaving the two Blackadders to themselves.

"Uncle," said Lord Blackadder. "What are we doing here? We're wasting precious time that could be better put to use finding ways to make ours the reigning family!"

"As you said before, nephew, there's no such thing as wasted time when one has a time machine."

"I can't remember ever saying that," Lord Blackadder sulked.

"Well, it was words to that effect. Anyway, I thought you wanted to know what happened to Lord BlackAdder as well. Wasn't that one of the reasons you wanted me to bring my unfinished manuscript along with me when first you dropped into my office seven hours ago?"

Lord Blackadder gave a start.

"Has it only been seven hours?" he asked.

"According to my watch, yes."

Lord Blackadder shook his head in astonishment.

"Amazing!" he said.

"Well it is your time machine. I'm just a passenger."

"Yes. That is true. And a right annoying one too. This is my mission, after all."

"A mission that will definitely affect me, if you are successful in making your proposed changes to the timeline," the professor retorted. "If you ever do manage to. So far, we haven't changed much in that respect."

"Well, I think we might have had an effect on the life of that butler chap from the 1800s."

"Yes, but not enough, apparently. We're still here, after all, aren't we."

Lord Blackadder nodded.

"Yes we are. And that's exactly my point. If we are to make any true changes, we're going to have to strike at an earlier time. Everything's far too firmly entrenched here. Events are sure to be much more malleable in the wake of the repercussions of the War of the Roses."

"You may be right, my boy," the professor granted, "but a fear has been growing within me since Lord BlackAdder first informed us he was called away to court. I have a feeling that if it hadn't been for your time machine blocking the corridor and causing him to encounter that messenger outside rather than in his sitting room, events would have turned out quite differently than they have so far."

"Talk sense, Uncle," said Lord Blackadder impatiently. "Get the to point. What do you mean?"

The professor sighed.

"I mean we are making changes, but they are the wrong kind. You may not have noticed this, Nephew, but as Lord BlackAdder spoke to the messenger, a young lady in a coach drove by. She had the driver pause a few yards from his house, and I saw her start to open the door. Then, she watched as he scared the poor boy away. Her face darkened, she slammed the door, and called for the driver to press on. I am nearly certain that that lady was the fair Lady Jane Pottle, of whom we have heard so much and from whom we ourselves are descended. She had come to make amends with our forefather, only to change her mind at the sight of his bad temper—a sight she would not have beheld, mind you, if it had not been for our arrival. Also, if they had made up before his arrival here at the castle, I am certain he would not have vanished. My boy, I am afraid we have changed things so Lord BlackAdder and Lady Pottle do not marry before Lord BlackAdder's mysterious death."

Lord Blackadder's dark eyes widened as his complexion paled.

"My God," he breathed. "If what you're saying is true, we must find a way to prevent his death! When did it occur?"

"It seems to be mid-summer outside," the professor mused. "In about a month's time, I should say. Unless our arrival has altered that as well. History is not very reliable once the past becomes the present."

"I beg your pardon?"

"The past cannot be altered. But, the present is constantly changing."

Lord Blackadder groaned deeply.

"Oh, God! But, where—"

He was cut off by the sound of footfalls in the hall. The professor silently gestured to the tapestry and he and his nephew dived behind it. Lord Blackadder realized his leg had stopped troubling him so badly. The pain had subsided to a dull ache that was rapidly fading away. He sighed in relief as he pressed up against the wall beside his uncle. They waited nervously for the tapestry to go completely still before stretching their ears to hear what was being said in the corridor immediately outside the room. The Queen and Percy were apparently playing some type of game. An unfamiliar voice was calling to Baldrick, offering promises of food. From the sound of it, whoever she was was leading Baldrick into the throne room. They took up position directly in front of the tapesty. The professor looked over to his nephew, anxiety showing clearly in his eyes.

"How's that?" Percy's voice shouted from the corridor.

"Percy," came the Queen's voice. She was using a slow voice filled with false patience. "Who's Queen?"

Something clattered to the floor, then rolled for a while.

"Whoops!" Percy exclaimed nervously, "Butterfingers!"

"Ah," said the Queen, contentedly. "So I win again."

Lord Blackadder turned his head carefully to stare at his uncle.

"They're playing some sort of game!" he whispered harshly. "I thought they were concerned about—"

His uncle held up a hand and shook his head. This was not the time.

The voices from the corridor were getting closer. In another moment, it was clear that there were at least four people in the throne room with them: the Queen, Percy, Baldrick, and the owner of the unfamiliar voice.

"Yes. Well done, your majesty!" Percy was saying.

"There's definitely been no sign of Edmund," the Queen asked, sounding concerned. Lord Blackadder snorted quietly, as if to say, "About time you got around to him."

"I fear not, ma'am," Percy replied quietly.

"Why then he vanished. Simply vanished."

Percy looked downcast.

"Like an old oak table," he said.

The Queen looked at him.

" _Vanished_ , Lord Percy—not _varnished_."

Percy looked up.

"Forgive me, my lady, but my Uncle Bertram's old oak table completely vanished." He shifted his gaze to deep space as he sank into a memory. " 'Twas on the night of the great Stepney fire. And on that same terrible night, his house and all his other things completely vanished too. So did he, in fact. It was a most perplexing mystery."

The Queen was unimpressed.

"Lord Percy?" she said.

"Yes?"

"It's up to you. Either you can shut up, or you can have your head cut off."

Percy squinted as his face scrunched up, thinking hard before answering. After almost a full minute, he finally answered.

"I'll shut up," he said.

"But I don't think Lord BlackAdder would have vanished," Baldrick piped up from the lap of a dumpy old lady with a daft grin plastered on her round, rosy face. She was dressed in a blue dress and throughout the previous conversation she had been feeding him like a dog from her hand.

"Why do you say that, Fido?" the Queen asked, referring to Baldrick.

"Well, it's impossible, isn't it," Baldrick replied. "Because, if he had, everything now would be hard and shiny, like an old oak table."

"Uugh!" the Queen exclaimed in frustration. "That is _varnished_ , you annoying little monkey. I said that Lord BlackAdder has _vanished._ That means I believe he has disappeared entirely!"

"Oh," said Baldrick. "Well that's different."

"It certainly is," Percy replied, stoutly backing up the Queen. She turned to him in exasperation, then sighed deeply.

"But," Percy added, "are you quite entirely certain that he's not simply hiding in a really good place? He is very clever, after all."

"Oh, I don't know," said the Queen, "I've looked everywhere."

Percy was quiet for a moment, then he put a finger to his temple, concentrating intensely on his slowly forming thoughts.

"Perhaps," he strained, "...they're not...hiding...at all!" The Queen looked up. "Perhaps...they've been... kidnapped!"

The Queen stared at him.

"Nonsense!" she exclaimed. "Remember what Edmund said: `Only real idiots get kidnapped'."

Percy looked frightened.

"Do they?!" He looked around himself as if afraid someone would pop out of the walls and grab him.

"Of course they do!" the Queen stated, firmly. "And, if there's one thing Lord BlackAdder isn't, it's a real idiot. Why, only this morning he gave me some very good advice concerning a demand for ransom that I'd been asked to pay."

"How did he advise Your Majesty," Percy inquired, interested.

"Well, he told me I shouldn't do it. It's the poor man's own fault for being stupid enough to get kidnapped in the first place. So, I decided I'd only pay that last one, and then no more. Even if I were to be spanked until my bottom turned blue!"

The dumpy little lady looked up from feeding Baldrick just then.

"Don't be so upset, my little cherry pip," she soothed, turning to face the Queen. "Try to think of something happy or something funny that reminds you of something else. For example, I did enjoy Lord BlackAdder's stories ever so much! They reminded me of daffodils."

Percy looked painfully confused.

The Queen squinted her eyes, trying in vain to make sense of the dumpy old lady's odd comment.

"Tell me, how did you come to that conclusion, Nursie?" she asked. "Edmund's stories brought to mind many things, but daffodils were certainly not one of them, at least to me."

"Well, my little apple blossom," the aged nurse grinned, "it's not so much what the stories were about, but the way—"

She was interrupted just then by a sharp rap at the double doors.

The Queen sat up with a start, smoothing her bright, orange hair and arranging her rich skirts about her as regally as possible.

"Come in," she called.

The doors came open and the familiar figure of the young messenger came striding through. He fell to one knee in a deep genuflect, then rose.

"My lady," he announced, "I bring a message from Prince Ludwig." He held out a bit of rolled parchment.

"Lord Percy," the Queen commanded. "Take the message from this messenger."

Percy came forward and held out his hands. The messenger handed him the message.

"All right, messenger, you may go now."

With a deep bow, the young man departed, closing the doors silently behind him.

Percy started toward the Queen's throne with the message, when she called out:

"Stop!"

He did, nearly falling forward in his haste to come to a halt. The Queen went on. "You will read the message to Us, Acting Lord Chamberlain," she demanded. "The name of this Prince Ludwig is unfamiliar to Our ears."

"Yes, your majesty," Percy acknowledged, unrolling the parchment. There was rather a long pause as he took the time to read it through once before attempting it out loud. The two eavesdroppers behind the tapestry could hear her fidgeting as she waited impatiently for him to begin.

"Dear Qveen," Percy started, sounding as if he was possessed of an overemphasized German accent. "I, efil Prince Ludvig the Indestructible, hafe your two friends, and you must shoose between zem. Die ransom is one million krona. Many many appaloggies for die inconweenience."

"Oh, my goodness!," the Queen exclaimed. "What a difficult choice!"

Her aged nurse looked up, as if to comfort her.

"But it isn't the first difficult choice you've ever had to make, my little tadpole.

The Queen nodded, concerned but seeming to strengthen.

"No, that's true."

Her nurse went on, oblivious to the gravity of the situation.

"In the old days, it was all difficult choices. Should you have Nursie mi—"

A slight rustle from behind them (the professor's foot had fallen asleep and he had jarred the tapestry accidentally in his desperate attempt to wake it) interrupted her before she could elaborate any further. The Queen and her aged nurse looked around for the source of the noise, then quickly lost interest. Anticipating another of Nursie's embarrassing stories about her babyhood, the Queen ordered her faithful old servant to shut-up. The old lady turned and sat quietly in her chair. The Queen sighed.

"This is very confusing," she observed. She turned to her Acting Lord Chamberlain, noticing he still held the lute. "Lord Percy," she ordered limply, "play awhile to calm my spirits."

Percy gave a slight bow.

"Certainly, ma'am." Turning slightly, he handed his lute to Baldrick, who was standing by the wall, and actually started to play. The Queen stared at him, aghast, as he clapped his hands together singing, " Patty-cake, patty-cake, baker's man. Ah-ha, you're It!" Then, he spun in place, finally tumbling to the floor as he called out, "Ring-a-ring o' rosey, all fall down!"

The Queen was positively speechless for a moment, then she shook her head.

"Lord Percy, I do believe you to be madder than a march hare that has forgotten which way is up and is struggling to hop along the ground on its back."

Baldrick sniggered at the mental picture her words had created in his mind. The Queen turned her gaze to him, then smiled.

"But, your madness has cleared my mind of its worry. I believe I know what to do now."

"Do you, your majesty?" Percy exclaimed, excited. "That's wonderful. What is it?"

"Bring me some parchment and a quill at once," she commanded. "I'm going to write back to that evil Prince Ludvig, whoever he is. I'll show him who's Queen around here!"

"Huzzah!" Percy cheered. Then, he rushed off to fetch the items she'd requested.

Percy returned in what must have been a record time. The Queen spread out the parchment on a little desk she placed on her lap and started to write. As she did, she read her words out loud, her tongue sticking slightly out of her mouth in her concentration.

"After long and very careful deliberation," she wrote, "the Queen has decided to expend the ransom money on...a big party. Just impossible to decide between my two faves, so I've decided to keep the cash, have a whizzy-jolly time and try to forget both of you. Hope you're not too miffed. Byeeeeee!"

Percy stared at her, his mouth hanging open in the absolute silence that followed after the Queen had rolled up the parchment and placed her seal firmly on the crease.

"So, we're not going to rescue him?" Baldrick piped from his corner.

"No," said the Queen stiffly. "We're going to forget all about them. They're more trouble than they're worth, going off and getting kidnapped like that and expecting me to pay for it! Besides, their carelessness has proved to me that they are neither of them as clever as I had once thought. I can make do quite well with you and Nursie to advise me."

Baldrick's eyes seemed to show some skepticism, but this expression could have been caused by the digestive troubles he was having after eating a dead rat he'd found in an alley that morning for breakfast. Whatever the reason, the expression vanished when the Queen called to him and offered a bowl of chopped beef scraps for him to eat. Eagerly, the bearded little man rushed towards her lap and stuffed his face in the bowl of food, eating hungrily. Whether or not he noticed that the word 'dog' was inscribed on the dish, and whether or not he cared if he did, is debatable, but unlikely.

"What sort of party should it be?," the Queen asked her companions brightly.

Percy spoke up eagerly, "Oh, fancy dress. I love fancy dress."

"Nursie?" asked the Queen, turning to her old nurse.

The daffy old lady was staring intently into space, a strange expression filling her round, goggly eyes.

"I think it should be one of those ones where everybody comes with nothing on at all!" she replied in an odd, calm manner.

The Queen was unimpressed.

"Shut up, then." She turned to Percy. "I agree with you, Acting Lord Chamberlain. If we're really to forget our woes, then we should have as much fun as possible. And what can be more fun than a party where people come dressed as frogs and rabbits and nuns?"

"...and bits of wood!" came a voice from beside the Queen. She turned to face her nurse.

"You're not going to come as a bit of wood."

The daffy old nurse seemed disappointed.

"Aren't I?"

"No!" the Queen replied, vehemently.

Undaunted, the nurse went on.

"Ah," she said. "Well, how about a pencil, then? Should I come as a pencil?"

The exasperated Queen rolled her royal eyes.

"Don't be silly, Nursie. You always talk like this and you always end up coming as the same thing."

"Do I?"

The Queen stared at her, unable to understand how someone could be so amazingly thick.

"Yes, you know—of co—everybo—" Giving up, she turned her attention to Baldrick, who was still lapping up the food in the bowl on her lap. "Lassie," she said, "what does Nursie always come to fancy-dress parties dressed as?"

Baldrick looked up from his bowl, bits of food crumbling off his beard.

"I thought everybody knew," he said.

The Queen nodded.

"Yes—everybody, apparently, except Nursie. Tell her."

Baldrick replied without hesitation.

"She always comes as a cow."

The dumpy old nurse looked enlightened.

"Yes, that's right! A lovely, lovely cow with great big lovely udders. I swiggle around going 'Mmmoooooo! Come to Nursie Cow, you lovely little heifers!' "

Percy seemed positively appalled.

"Oh yes!" the crazy old loon went on, "What fun! Oh, I want to be a cow again, please?"

"Shut-up," said the Queen. She turned to Percy. "Isn't Nursie _stoo_ pid?"

Percy forced a laugh.

"She certainly is, ma'am."

The Queen straightened, satisfied.

"You see?" She smiled. "We're having a good time already! We've completely forgotten about those chaps in prison." She looked around at her companions, as if daring them to disagree with her. "Haven't we?"

Percy seemed somewhat uncomfortable at first, then, a light went on behind his dim eyes. Feigning curious ignorance, he asked, "What chaps?"

The small party in the throne room burst into laughter. All, that is, except for the two hidden Blackadders. As the Elizabethans followed Elizabeth herself out of her throne room in order to get their costumes ready for the party, Lord Blackadder turned to his uncle, disgust written over every feature.

"I can't believe what we've just heard!" he exclaimed, albeit softly. "How fickle can a creature be?"

"Do you mean Percy?" the professor inquired.

"I mean all of them!" Lord Blackadder shouted (again softly). "One minute they're driving themselves to distraction looking for this poor chap when they think he's only hiding, then they find out he's in real danger and they decide it's best to forget all about him! It's unbelievable!"

The professor breathed in deeply through his nose, nodding.

"You're right," he said. "But what can we do about it? Let them have their party. Lord BlackAdder will not be killed just yet."

"And you know this how?" his nephew demanded.

"Because," said the professor darkly, "the bodies of two men, Lord Percy and a bearded unknown of small stature—I'm sure you recognize Baldrick here—were found along with that of Lord BlackAdder. There's more to come, I can feel it."

"But, I thought you said that things had changed—that you no longer had any idea what was going to happen."

The professor didn't respond. He just looked haughty.

Lord Blackadder sighed deeply.

"I only hope this situation isn't even half as bad as you make it out to be. Because, if you're right about this whole Lady Pottle thing, if Lord BlackAdder dies we will never be born."

The professor nodded very slowly.

"That, my boy, is precisely why from the moment I realized your time machine worked I feared this little excursion of yours was so ill advised."

Queen Elizabeth I of England came striding into her throne room dressed in the fashion of her father's day—in fact, in her father's very clothes, altered, of course, to fit her far smaller figure.

"Yo ho ho! Off with their heads!" she boomed, making her voice as deep and manly as she could manage.

"Ma'am, it is brilliant!" Percy enthused from beside her throne. "Your father is born again!"

"I should bally well hope not," she retorted in her normal voice, "or else I won't be Queen anymore!" She gave a good look at Percy. He was dressed all in orange, as usual, only now he had a large crown of multi-colored feathers perched on his head. "Er, yours is pretty good, too. What is it?"

Percy seemed flattered.

"It's nothing, ma'am," he replied modestly, "just a mere trifle I threw together."

The Queen snorted slightly as she sat down.

"Doesn't look much like a trifle," she muttered. "Looks more like a fruit salad to me."

Percy felt it would be best to change the subject.

"I see Nursie's really excelled herself," he said, gesturing to the chair beside the Queen's throne where Nursie was sitting, her features entirely concealed by an elaborate, detailed, ornate cow costume, complete with horns and, of course, udders.

"MMMMMOOOOOOOOOO!" a muffled voice sounded from within the costume.

The Queen looked very impressed.

"Yes, she has." She looked down at Baldrick, who was crouched under the window with a pencil sticking out of each nostril. "I'm not sure about this, though," she said, looking at him in confusion. "What are you meant to be?"

Baldrick looked up from his position on the floor.

"A pencil case," he responded.

"Yes!" she cried ecstatically, her eyes lighting up with excitement. "Oh, it's just like parties I had when I was tiny. We had tea and cakes and venison, and then a trip with a couple of little friends to the executions!"

"How sweet," Percy smiled.

The Queen continued "...if I _wanted_ my little friends executed, that is." Suddenly, her good mood faded, uncovering a hidden depth of melancholy. She sighed deeply. "Oh, how I do wish Edmund could be here. He always loved parties, and always always wore very very tight tights."

Hoping to cheer up the party as he had done once before, Percy asked, "Edmund who?"

Just then, the doors burst open. Four startled pairs of eyes turned at once to the back of the room as a ragged, black-clad figure swept in.

"Edmund BlackAdder!" he cried. And, so he was.

"Oh!" the Queen exclaimed, unable to conceal her delight.

"Majesty...," the former prisoner breathed, bowing down before her in a show of the deepest respect.

The Queen removed her beard and looked deep into his eyes.

"Oh, Edmund!" she cried. Her own eyes suddenly clouded with confusion. "But…"

"Did you ever know me to miss a party?" Lord BlackAdder asked.

The Queen smiled in excitement, but when she spoke, her voice was serious.

"But what about Lord Melchett?"

Edmund looked uncomfortable.

"Yes..." he said slowly. "Unfortunately, ma'am, he made it too."

He gestured to the door as a similarly disheveled, very tall bearded man with a slightly crooked nose—unmistakably a descendant of the Roman soldier Melchettus and an ancestor of that roaring General Melchett—came striding in. Upon seeing the Queen, he literally fell at her feet, babbling.

"Rapture!" he cried. "Joy beyond measure! Bliss," he took a moment to kiss her hand, "which cannot be counted on one's fingers!"

"Bbaaaaa..." came Lord BlackAdder's voice.

The Queen looked at him, confused.

"Sorry, Edmund?"

Edmund shook his head, attempting to look innocent.

"Nothing..."

Accepting the explanation for the moment—it was obviously some kind of private joke between the two lords—the Queen decided it was finally time to get down to business.

"Yes, um, unfortunately, apart from my nose getting a little prettier, nothing much has changed around here." She motioned to Baldrick, who was gnawing at a large bone in the corner by the windows. "Your animal still isn't house-trained, Percy's still unemployed, and Nursie's one stick short of a bundle."

Nursie proceeded to back up this statement by uttering an elongated, "MMMMOOOOOOOOO!"

"Ah, yes," said Edmund, "Thank you for reminding me." In one smooth sweeping motion, he had taken his sword from the scabbard at his hip and run the cow through.

The Queen was absolutely shocked. "Nursie!" she shrieked. She turned to Edmund, horror in her eyes. "You killed Nursie!" As a sort of downplayed afterthought, she pronounced, "Oh, that's horrid..." Standing, she shouted for her guards.

"Guards! Guards! Take him away and execute him! He's killed Nursie!"

Before a single guard could show his face, however, a small voice was heard approaching from the corridor. "Can anyone help me with my udders?"

The Queen stared.

"Nursie?"

"Yes?" asked the dumpy old lady.

"Yes," announced Edmund. "And may I introduce you to our erstwhile captor, Prince Ludwig the Indestructible!"

With a triumphant flourish, he ripped the head of the excellent cow costume from its body, revealing the long, scarred visage of:

"Ah, Qveen Elizabeth, we meet again," said Prince Ludwig, rather melodramatically. He spoke like his letter read, with a very fake, pronounced German accent.

"Er, no, I don't think so, actually," the Queen responded, ruining the tense moment.

"Yes," the Prince replied, trying to jog her memory, "you remember when you were young; your father used to take you riding on a magnificent gray pony that you used to kiss and fondle in the stable yard."

Embarrassed, the Queen motioned with her hands for him to stop his explanation. Ignoring her, he pressed on.

" _I_ ," he said, " _I_ was the tall and attractive German stable lad who held him."

The Queen was flabbergasted.

"No!"

"Yes!" the German Prince declared.

"You?"

The Prince looked pleased with himself. "Uh-huh."

The Queen broke into a disbelieving grin.

"Shorty-Greasy-Spot-Spot?"

The supposedly dying prince leaped to his feet as if his bottom had been pierced by a narwhal's tusk.

"No!" he cried. "No, no, no! You vill—all of you—wegret the day that you hafe mocked my complexion." Holding his cow costume up, he ran across the room, shouting, "I shall return and vreak my rewenghee!" He dashed into the corridor, laughing maniacally.

Edmund removed a large knife from his belt, shouting, "No, you will die and be buried!"

Taking swift, but careful aim, Lord BlackAdder threw his knife. A pained scream and a slumping sound told those gathered that the evil Prince Ludwig was no more.

"Hurray!" they all shouted.

Edmund looked pleased with himself.

"Strange man," he commented, dryly.

The Queen was still suffering from amazement.

"But how did you know it was him?"

Edmund straightened.

"This was the information with which we bought our lives." The Queen looked up at him in rapt attention. "We told him that, if the Queen was having a party, Nursie always goes as a cow. From that moment, he was doomed. All we had to do was escape, return, and kill the cow."

Completely awed, the Queen asked, "How could you be sure it was not Nursie?"

"Because, my lady, Ludwig was a master of disguise, whereas Nursie is a sad, insane old woman with a udder fixation. All we had to do was kill the one that _looked like_ the cow. That was the mistake I knew that Ludwig would make. His disguise was too good!"

"Gosh, Edmund!" the Queen gushed. "How brilliant! Welcome home!"

Lord BlackAdder grinned.

"Well, I must say, ma'am, it's good to be back."

Percy came forward, almost unable to speak in his relief and excitement at seeing his friend safe and alive.

"Welcome, Edmund. Did you...miss me?"

"I certainly did." Percy looked delighted. "Many was the time, Percy, I said to myself, 'I wish Percy was here—"

Overcome with emotion, Percy embraced his friend. Edmund did not respond in kind.

"...being tortured instead of me," he finished his statement.

Percy laughed.

"We have missed your wit!"

Edmund looked exasperated.

"Did you miss me, my lord?"

Edmund turned. Baldrick had come out of his corner and was now looking up at him with an expectant smile.

Edmund looked carefully at him, as if he were unable to place his face.

"Ermmm...'Baldrick' is it?"

The little man's smile broadened into a grin.

"That's right."

Edmund shook his head.

"No, not really."

Disappointed, Baldrick slunk away.

"And me?" asked the Queen, quietly coming forward. "Did you miss me, Edmund?"

Lord BlackAdder reached out and tenderly took her outstretched hands.

"Madam," he said, "life without you is like...a broken pencil."

Wrinkling her forehead, the Queen asked, "Explain?"

With a small smile twisting the edges of his mouth, Lord BlackAdder responded, "Pointless."

The Queen was absolutely charmed.

Behind the tapesty, Lord Blackadder rolled his eyes.

"Can you believe him?" he whispered to his uncle. "What a shyster."

His uncle was grinning, broadly.

"Yes, isn't he?"

Beyond the tapestry, Lord Melchett was apparently getting nervous about the way the Queen was fawning over Lord BlackAdder and paying no attention to him whatsoever.

Clearing his throat, he interrupted, "Erm, sorry to interrupt, your majesty, but what are we to do with that dead body just outside? I don't mean to sound morbid, but we cannot simply leave it to lie there all day, leaking all over the floor. Someone is likely to slip."

The Queen sighed deeply.

"Oh, you would go and bring up something like that, Melchie, just when I was starting to enjoy myself." Returning to her throne, she sat down and gestured for Lords Melchett, Percy, and BlackAdder to pay attention. "All right, Melchie," she said, "since you brought it up, I'm putting you in charge of disposing of that dead stable boy."

"Don't you mean that dead middle-aged, insane German prince with the scarred visage?" asked Lord BlackAdder, dryly.

"Well, whatever he is. Was. I don't care. Just remove him from Our sight, at once!"

The three nobles bowed slightly.

"Yes, ma'am," they chorused.

Lord BlackAdder strode purposefully towards the body of the deceased German prince, looking down at his dead face with a mixture of disgust and appalled satisfaction. The corpse's goggly eyes were glassy, as if they were really just two glass marbles. Disturbed by this, he leaned in for a closer examination of the face. Now he came to notice it, the face seemed far too textured and stiff to be real. It seemed more like a very, very good mask than something made of flesh and blood. Leaning in even closer, he could see that the indentations he had taken for wrinkles and scars were really slits between the joints of the moving parts of the face. The most pronounced of these were for the jaw. Lord BlackAdder reached out a hand and felt the corpse's skin. It was cold and hard, as if it had been made of layers and layers of delicate cloth that had been immersed in some glue-type substance and painstakingly layered and painted to give it the appearance of life.

Filled with a very disturbing conviction, Lord BlackAdder quickly turned the body over, dislodging the dagger from its back. He sheathed the dagger, then, ripping open the body's shirt, he felt along its back, looking for what he now knew had to be there.

Lord Melchett, who had decided he'd rather hang back with Percy than actually touch the corpse, stared at him, his face drained of all color.

"Lord BlackAdder, what do you imagine you are doing?" he exclaimed, aghast.

"Is everything all right out there, boys?" the Queen's voice queried from within the throne room.

Having found what he was looking for, Lord BlackAdder stood up and brushed the dust from his knees.

"Yes, your majesty," he called back. "Everything's just fine. But, I have discovered something here that I think you should see."

"What is it?" the Queen shrilled. "Did he have a funny shaped birthmark?"

"No, your majesty, it's not that."

"Then, did he have an embarrassing tattoo?"

Lord BlackAdder bit his lip.

"No, majesty, it's not that either. I really do think you should come and have a look."

"You don't want to show me his—"

"No!" Edmund exclaimed, cutting her off. "No, ma'am. Just come, your majesty, I beg you."

"Well, all right," she said, grudgingly. "I'm coming. Nursie!"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"You watch Lassie while I'm out. We don't want him to try to escape, now, do we?"

"No fear of that, majesty," came Baldrick's voice. "I'm quite comfortable right here."

"Well, that's good. All right, boys," the Queen cried, "here I come."

She strode out into the hallway.

"And I warn you three, this had better be good because…"

She trailed off when she came near enough to see what Lord BlackAdder had discovered.

"Oh, my God!" she breathed, positively stunned. "Is this some sort of trick?"

"No trick, my lady," Lord BlackAdder assured her. "At least, it is a trick, but it's not what you are thinking."

Looking over to his other two companions, Lord BlackAdder smirked.

"It's all right to come and have a look, Melchie," he said, condecendingly, "there's no blood, if that's what you were afraid of."

"I am not afraid," said Melchett, stiffly. "It's just that you were doing so well, and I didn't want to get in your way."

Edmund rolled his eyes toward the Queen, who snickered demurely behind her hand. His humiliation having outstripped his trepidation, Melchett stepped forward. Percy followed close behind.

"Why," said Melchett, staring at the tear it its back caused by the dagger, "he isn't real at all! He's stuffed full of wooden wheels and wire! What is the meaning of this, BlackAdder?"

Edmund straightened from his crouching position.

"Well," he said reasonably, "apparently someone built a construct in the shape of a man and sent it here to fool us into thinking it was real."

"But, however did they manage to make it move?" asked the Queen, fascinated.

"If you'll draw your attention to the small of its back, your majesty, you will see the tiny hole where the key is placed to wind up its workings."

"But, then, how was it made to speak? To respond to questions?"

Lord BlackAdder shook his head, at a loss.

"Whoever made this thing is some kind of mechanical genius. It would probably take us months of careful study to figure out its workings."

Lord Melchett was on the verge of looking smug.

"You mean that you don't know?"

Lord BlackAdder was starting to get angry.

"Of course I don't know!" he exclaimed. "How could I? I've never encountered anything like it before in my life. And you haven't either, Melchett, so don't start getting smug with me."

The Queen held up her hands.

"Boys, boys!" she reprimanded. "Let's not have any fighting. We must find out what is going on. How did this thing get in? What was it doing trying to impersonate poor Nursie? And what has this Prince Ludwig got to do with it all?"

"Perhaps," said a deep, thickly accented voice from behind them, "I could shed some light on zese matters for you."

The small gathering around the mechanical construct turned as one. Their eyes widened and mouths gaped in unison.

There, standing before them in her finest, white dress embroidered all over with pearls, was the very image of the Queen herself. She was holding a very sharp dagger rather carelessly in one hand and was wearing the most self-satisfied smirk any of them had ever encountered on her smooth face. In fact, she seemed more self-satisfied than a dog that had chased a scrawny cat through the back lot of a fine resturant only to discover the largest, meatiest soup bone its eyes had ever beheld sticking out of a trash barrel, just waiting to be taken home and chewed to pieces by a nice, warm fire.

"Surprised, are you?" she asked. The deep, heavily accented voice was coming from her small throat. The four Elizabethans were too stunned to respond. The intruder laughed. It was a harsh sound.

"I tought zat you might be. In fact, I knew zat you vould be. I told you before, Lord BlackAdder, ven I had you in mine power, zat I vas a master of disguize." He turned from side to side, showing off his costume. "Vhat do you tink? Practically insistinguishable from die real ting, nein?"

"Prince Ludwig?" said Edmund, disbelievingly. "I don't believe it. I mean, I knew when we first met that you had some issues to work out, but I didn't realize you were planning on a sex change."

The evil prince chose to ignore that comment, instead striding forward for a better view of the wreckage that his construct had become.

"I see you hafe met mine dummy. But of course, you and the Lord Melchett vould remember him from your prison cell. Nice vork, isn't he? He vas mine representatife. But, as you can see, I no longer hafe need of him. For now, I vill kill you all and take my place as Qveen of all England!" This declaration was followed by a maniacal laugh.

"Do you really think you can get away with impersonating the Queen, Ludwig?" Lord BlackAdder demanded. "I mean, get serious! Your voice alone will give you away, if your accent doesn't first. And what if, one day, you're riding with your royal guard and you suddenly feel nature's call. There's no way you could pass for a lady."

"You forget, Lord BlackAdder," the unstable prince said, "I once conwinced you. Remember Big Sally?"

Lord BlackAdder reddened to the tips of his ears. For once in his life, he was rendered completely speechless.

"I won't pretend to know what's going on here," said the Queen in her best tough voice, "but I demand to know what right you think you have to come in here and try to take my place. There's a law against impersonating the Queen, you know."

"There is?" asked Percy.

"Well, if there isn't, there soon will be," the Queen retorted.

"Don't you unterstaand?" Prince Ludwig asked. "I deserfe to be die Qveen! I am smahter, better, greater than all of you stupid persons put togeter! For all of my life, people like you hafe mocked me, put me down, made me feel as small in brains as I am in stature! But, no longer! Shorty-Greasy-Spot-Spot shall hafe his rewengee! He shall show all you stupid persons just how little size matters!"

"Is that why you built your dummy, as you call it, to be so much taller than practically everyone else here?" asked Lord BlackAdder. "To prove how little size matters? Are you sure you weren't compensating for something?"

"Shut-up!" the little man in the astonishingly good Queen costume shouted. "Shut-up, shut-up, shut-up! I vill no longer hafe to listen to your sly vitticisms and your superior attitude any more, Lord BlackAdder. For, you vill be the first to die!"

"Not if I have anything to say about it," said Percy stoutly, trying to pull his sword from his scabbard. After a few moments of fruitless tugging, Percy flushed, embarrassed. "Erm, it seems to be stuck."

Everyone groaned.

"Percy, get back," said Lord BlackAdder. "Don't you know better than to provoke a transvestite homicidal maniac?"

Percy looked downcast.

"I just thought—"

"Die time for tinking ist ofer, my lords und lady! Die time for dying is at hand!"

With a loud roar, the crazed German Prince charged at them, the skirts of his costly gown billowing out behind him and his dagger swinging madly.

"Quick, everyone," Lord BlackAdder barked. "Into the throne room!"

There was a mad scramble as everyone tried to get in first. After a tight squeeze at the entry, another scramble took place to close the doors before Prince Ludwig arrived and to block them with something substantial before he burst his way inside.

Baldrick and Nursie jumped up from their seats and tried to hide behind the tapestry. To their vast surprise, they found the place was already occupied.

There was a chilling moment of complete silence as the frantic Elizabethans took long seconds of precious time to stare at the two twentieth century observers. Then, everyone started talking at once.

"Who in the world are they?" asked the Queen, shrilly.

"What are _they_ doing here?" demanded Lord BlackAdder.

"Oh, dear," said Baldrick.

"We can explain!" shouted Lord Blackadder.

"Oh, hullo! Are you still here?" asked Percy, brightly.

"Of course we're still here, you nitwit!" the professor shouted. "Where else did you think we'd be?"

"There's someone at the door! Are my udders on straight?" Nursie inquired anxiously.

Lord Blackadder and the professor held their hands up for silence, hoping for a chance to explain, but before they could say anything the doors burst open and Shorty-Greasy-Spot-Spot came charging in. His face was so red it showed through his mask, causing it to seem flushed. It was quite a realistic effect. He barged in slashing. His dagger caught Nursie in the back of the neck, and she fell to the floor with a surprised yell. The Queen barely had time to register her shock before she too fell before the madman's blade. Melchett and Percy tried to squeeze themselves under the Queen's throne and Nursie's chair, but Shorty was too quick for them. Suddenly, only Lord BlackAdder, Baldrick, and the two time travelers remained. His eyes flashing with fear and determination as the flashing blade swooped madly toward him, Lord BlackAdder turned to his two decendents and shouted, "Run!"

While this word was forcing its way through their stunned skulls, their noble ancestor drew his sword and charged at the mad Prince. Baldrick, pulling a dagger from the fallen Melchett's belt, charged after him with a yell. It was this yell that brought the two time travelers to their senses. As Baldrick and his master held off the frantically strong, vertically-challenged German prince in the pearl-embroidered gown, Lord Blackadder and his uncle took the opportunity to flee. Trying to block out the horrible clashing sounds of metal upon metal that chased them down the corridor, the two men found themselves running faster than either of them would have believed possible. Reaching the courtyard, they grabbed the nearest pair of horses, paying no heed to the objections of the stable hands or the recently dismounted owners, and galloped off into the distance as fast as they could make their horses, that were already tired from their previous journey, run.

Well aware that they were only seconds at best in front of a law enforcement party—stealing horses was a serious crime—the inexperienced riders urged their mounts on. The tired horses seemed to sense the urgency of their situation and tried their best to go faster.

Lord Blackadder had the sad misfortune to have grabbed a horse that had been saddled for a lady. Forced to ride side saddle, he reflected on how much more dangerous and frightening it was than the more common practice of firmly settling one's behind over the horse's back with both legs clinging on to the sides for extra stability. He suddenly found himself filled with a deeper respect for all the ladies who had been forced to ride side saddle before it became acceptable for them to wear trousers. As he bounced and swayed and chaffed, struggling to keep his balance and keep up with his uncle at the same time, Lord Blackadder couldn't help wishing fervently for one of his many prized cars. He could picture the very one: sleek and red with the ability to go from zero to one hundred twenty miles per hour in only three seconds. He'd had it designed especially for his forty-fifth birthday.

Finally, finally, finally, they reached Lord BlackAdder's house. Leaping from their mounts without pausing to show their gratitude to the exhausted horses or to allow their screaming muscles to let them know the full extent of the agony they were going through, the two time travelers raced to the side door and, finding it locked, banged at it frantically. Turning to look behind them for a moment, Lord Blackadder spied a cloud of dust growing in the distance. The sound of thundering hooves soon followed.

"Baldrick!" he shouted, "Open this blasted door! At once!"

After a few excruciating seconds of silence, the door creaked open and Baldrick's sleepy head poked out. Lord Blackadder pushed past him with his uncle close behind.

"Come on, Baldrick," he shouted. "Into the time machine. We've got to get out of here!"

Baldrick was still bleary from his long nap.

"What's going on?" he asked as he climbed up the ramp into the time machine, bewildered at the flustered state of his companions. "Is something wrong?"

"Yes!" Lord Blackadder grunted, turning the wheel that started the gears of the time machine moving as his uncle fiddled with the knobs and levers that controled the date. "We just found out how Lord BlackAdder met his end. And we are soon to join him if we don't get out of here pronto! Now, stop lazing about and give us a hand with these controls!"

The sound of hoofbeats stopped just outside the door. Men's voices could be heard shouting to one another. Baldrick was sufficiently impressed by these sounds to snap out of his bleary, half-conscious state. He rushed to lend a hand to the two struggling Blackadders.

The small group of guards and stable hands from the palace were just about to enter into Lord BlackAdder's house in search of the culprits who had run off with the Earl of Sussex's prized horses when the air around them went all wavy and strange, as the air above a stretch of sand does on a very hot day. Shaking off the odd effect as resulting from the strain of a prolonged stretch of unusually hard riding, they barged their way in. However, hard as they searched, they never found a trace of the thieves. The horses, they found grazing contentedly by the fountain in the garden out back. Except for a touch of exhaustion, they were perfectly all right.

* * *

Back at the castle, the evil Prince Ludwig stood before Queen Elizabeth's throne, his bloody dagger clutched tightly in one hand, and a triumphant smirk plastered on his masked face as he admired his handiwork. Queen Elizabeth, Nursie, Percy, and Baldrick, as well as Lords BlackAdder and Melchett—the former still dressed in the costumes for the party and the latter still ragged from their escape from the the evil prince's dungeon—were lying stretched out on the floor with their throats cut, unmistakably dead. In the distance, some church bells were solemnly tolling the hour.

Prince Ludwig smoothed his queenly skirts, threw back his orange-wigged head and laughed.

"Now _zis_ is a disguise I'm _really_ going to enjoy! If I can just get die voice right..."

 _To Be Continued..._


End file.
